Temporary Insanity
by Mind Static
Summary: Of all the adopted children, he looks the most like her and he's the closest to her. They always ignore the feelings, feelings trying to convince them that it isn’t sibling love, but something more… DylanPhoebe
1. Mood Ring

**WARNING: **This story is **AU** − Alternate Universe, thank you very much. For those of you, who are sickened at the thought of Dylan and Phoebe together as a couple, please don't read the piece and pass judgment on it based on the controversial themes. As a precaution, this story may include an adopted brother – adopted sister relationship, teenage alcohol abuse, teenage prescription drug abuse, violence, profanity and many other coming of age topics.

**In this story:**

Helen's adopted kids: Dylan (16), Naoko (14), Jimi (11), Lau (9), and Marisa & Bina (8)

Helen's biological kids: Phoebe (17), Mick (12), Joni (10) and Aldo (4)

You have been told. Now enjoy. :D

* * *

**Temporary Loss of Sanity**

**Chapter One: Mood Ring**

It starts in New York City.

The air is oddly cold and foggy on a summer evening in Manhattan. Phoebe North sits in her apartment with arms tightly folded over her chest. Her parents have been gone for a while and only now does the youngster begin to wonder. She kicks off her Converse, one by one, and watches the scuffed fire engine red sneakers hit the floor, landing beside the guitar her father had bought her from a secondhand shop days ago.

Mrs. Jones, the elderly woman who lives across the hall, is sitting in the arm chair across from Phoebe. Some Latino soap opera is playing across the television screen and Mrs. Jones seems to be doing more television watching than babysitting. Phoebe passionately argued that she was old enough to take care of the kids while her parents stepped out, but her mother wouldn't have it. It was one of the few rules Helen North had.

Phoebe sits with disappointment on her face. Her father had promised he'd teach her a song but then he got dragged away, babbling to the North children about a special surprise. Obediently, Phoebe sits, bored out of her mind, having to endure Jodi practicing her saxophone and the howling of Mick's new puppy. Her eyelids are drawing closed when she hears the familiar squeak of the front door and shoots up in her seat.

As the door opens, Phoebe jumps to her feet before Mrs. Jones can even blink. The brunette runs down the hallway only to stop cold in her tracks. There standing between her smiling mother and smirking father is a small boy who looks about her age. He's thin and pale with a messy mop of brown hair, long bangs falling in his eyes.

"Who's he?" Phoebe questions bluntly.

"Phoebe," her father, Peter North, addresses her in his velvet voice that seems like the only thing that calms Phoebe when she's in the midst of a loud, kicking and screaming tantrum. He steps towards her and Phoebe takes a step back. "Sweetheart, remember when your mother and I talked to you about maybe…_extending_ the family?"

Phoebe cautiously nods.

"Well, honey, this is Dylan, Dylan _North_, your new brother," Helen North explains and gives the young boy an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder. "He's going to be staying with us _indefinitely_."

"Let's all just sit down and talk about what this means, okay?" Mr. North ushers the shy boy into the apartment, dragging a red suitcase behind him.

No more questions are asked. No more answers are given. Helen loudly calls for the other children and shaking her head, Phoebe grabs her guitar and dashes down the hall. All that's heard is the echoing of the slammed door.

With a sigh, Mr. North massages his temples and mentally prepared for a talk with his oldest child. He easily moves through the room she shares with her sister and finds the tiny brunette sitting out on the rusty, metal fire escape. She has her guitar on her lap and her thin legs hang over the side, watching as the sun sets and the lights go on street by street. Peter groans, trying to crawl through the window to reach his daughter.

"Hey Rockstar, when you kids are teenagers this fire escape is going to be a huge problem isn't it?" Mr. North asks jokingly. Phoebe feels his intrusive gaze and immediately looks away, refusing to make eye contact. "Phoebe, what's wrong?"

"Why do we need another brother?" Phoebe asks sharply, whipping her head to look at her father. "I already have a brother and a sister. Why do I need another one?"

"Some kids aren't as luck as you or Mick or Joni. Dylan, he's a great kid and he has no other place to go," Mr. North tries to explain such a difficult subject, twiddling his large thumbs. "Phoebe, we talked about adopting remember? We talked about bringing someone who doesn't have a family into our family."

"We also talked about moving back to mom's hometown," Phoebe shoots back, "but noooo, we're still in New York City."

"You'd rather be a country girl?" Peter questions laughingly and receives a playful shove from his daughter. "Your mom doesn't think it's a good idea, raising you guys in the city, but hey, I grew up here. The city has so much energy and the people here have such passion for what they love. You can't get this in New London, kiddo."

Phoebe can't help, but soften, loving the sheer zeal glazing her father's dark eyes. She squirms in her seat and sighs, "how long is _he_ going to stay?"

"Phoebe, he's going to be apart of the family," Mr. North stresses, watching his little girl's expression turn sour. "I'm sure you'll love Dylan. He's a couple of months younger than you. He likes to draw and he's pretty good with a guitar too."

"Is that why you brought him here?" Phoebe shouts angrily, her dark eyes narrowed. "Is he better than me? Do you love him more because he can play guitar better than me?"

"Hey, you're my Rockstar, Pheebs, and no one will ever change that," Peter assures her, wrapping his arm around her thin shoulders, smiling. "Plus, your sister can't hit a single note with that sax yet I still love her and she has the passion to play. That's all that matters."

Phoebe giggles, knowing his words to be true.

"Phoebe, Peter, dinner!" Helen's voice echoes through the small Brooklyn apartment. Obediently, Peter crawls back through the window and glances at his daughter whose large doe eyes are still locked on the busy street below.

"Phoebe…"

"I'll be there in a minute, dad," Phoebe says with a smile, looking over her shoulder. With that, he disappears through the door and around the corner. Phoebe stays awhile, lightly strumming her fingertips against the strings of her electric guitar.

"You're good," says a quiet voice from behind. Phoebe stops for a second and turns back to look through the window. There she sees the rather shy boy with a lopsided, boyish grin on his face. He has his hands in the pockets of his ripped, faded blue jeans as his chocolate brown eyes search for acceptance. "Maybe we could play together sometime…"

"Maybe…" Phoebe mutters beneath her breath. She thrusts her guitar back in through the window and Dylan gently takes it in his hands, placing it on its stand in the corner of the room. Together the two walk in silence, headed for a dinner table now set for one more.

"I'm Phoebe," she says in the sweetest voice she can muster. "What's your name again?"

"Dylan," the boy responds.

"Welcome home, Dylan…"

…

_Seven years later…_

Dylan North wakes to the sound of two voices in a screaming match at 2 AM.

He sits up in bed, allowing the sheets to roll down his lean torso. He's immediately reminded of New York City, his birthplace, his former home. He's reminded of the bum who sits on the corner and cusses out everyone who strolls by past midnight. He's reminded of their next door neighbor, Mrs. Jones, whenever her son, a struggling pizza delivery boy and drug dealer, begs for money. Most of all, he's reminded of Phoebe. He knows her voice all too well.

Curious, Dylan slips out of bed and walks over to the window, peering outside. He isn't surprised by the sight. He's actually rather annoyed, seeing two figures fighting in front of a candy apple red Corvette. It's just Phoebe and her flavor of the week. Dylan can't even remember the guy's name and he doesn't care to commit it to memory. Just like all of Phoebe's other boyfriends, this one will be gone in a week or so.

Sighing, Dylan feels sleep weighing down his eyelids and staggers back to his bed. He falls onto layers and layers of pillows and blankets. He stares up at the watchful eyes spray painted onto the wall above, slowly lulling back into unconsciousness. Just as his mind blocks out the screams and yelling from outside, snores erupt from across the room.

Grumpily sitting up in bed, Dylan pulls a pillow into his hands and uses all his strength to hurl it across the room. It smacks straight into the older, sleeping boy and William Beardsley groans loudly, only to roll over and bring silence to the room once again. Dylan hears William mumble obscenities in his sleep and Dylan can't help but chuckle, both stopping the snoring and annoying William all at once, killing two birds with one stone or well, a pillow.

Just as he's about to search for a comfortable position, Dylan winces when he hears a loud engine roar to life. It breaks the five seconds of silence Dylan had been desperate for. As the car zooms down the hill, the deafening sound soon dies in the distance. With a sign of relief, Dylan snuggles into his pillow, yanking the sheets over his head.

Suddenly the door of the shared boys' bedroom slowly creaks open and Dylan's initial reaction is to fake sleep. Dylan hears the pitter patter of sneakers against the wooden floorboards before he's forcefully grabbed by the shoulders and violently shaken from side to side. He groans aloud and his eyes snap open in a glare.

"The hell do you think you're doing?!"

"Dylan, no time," Phoebe says, quickly grabbing his electric guitar from its stand. Dylan sees that Phoebe has her own guitar safely strapped to her back as she busily moves around the room. Being the heartthrob that he is, Dylan can read girls like mood rings. Immediately, he knows not to mess with Phoebe who seems to be in a terrible mood. "Get up."

"Phoebe, I'm tired…"

"Dylan, I'm inspired…"

Usually he'd be amused by the spontaneous rhyming, but he's too tired to even respond. Growling, Dylan tries to lie back in bed and hide his head beneath a nearby pillow. Sighing irritably, Phoebe yanks his arm, accidentally (on purpose) causing Dylan to fall out of his bed. His arm hits the bedside table and knocks a few cans of spray paint to the floor along with him. Dylan lands on his back, staring up at Phoebe's completely vacant eyes.

"Hey! Can't you see I'm trying to sleep here? Take it outside!" William yells in his best impersonation of his father. "Damn musicians…"

A reluctant Dylan drags his feet against the floor, following Phoebe to the lighthouse basement. Besides serving as a storage and laundry room, the basement is also known as a haven for the family musicians. The walls are covered with posters of music legends (the Beatles, the Clash, the Ramones, ect.) and graffiti (some tasteful, some random). Phoebe hits a switch and brings the strung Christmas lights to life.

The determined musician immediately goes to plug her electric guitar into an amp while Dylan sluggishly yawns and drops down onto the beaten brown couch. He soon begins to drift off again, finding it painful to keep his eyes open. Meanwhile Phoebe goes through the basement, turning on every light her fingers find. When spotting the lead singer half-asleep, Phoebe twists a knob to maximum volume and strums randomly, the amplifier right by Dylan's head.

Dylan snaps awake in horror at such a horrible sound and Phoebe smirks triumphantly.

"DYLAN, KEEP IT DOWN!"

The teenage boy fills with irritation, hearing his stepfather's screams from the ceiling. Phoebe simply smiles, obviously enjoying the fact that she evaded the blame yet again, letting it fall on the shoulders of the lead singer− something Dylan's grown used to.

"It's nice to see you decided to join me back in the world of the awake," Phoebe says, her voice eerily calm. Dylan shoots her an angry look and Phoebe sighs, slumping down beside him. "Dylan, could you please pay attention for once in your life? I swear, sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one that actually cares about the music."

"I do care about the music," he argues, rubbing his sore eardrums. "Of all people, you should know that, Pheebs. What I don't get is why we have to start so fucking early in the morning! Battle of the Bands isn't even till July. It's fucking April so chill out."

"Can we just…start, please?" Phoebe asks; her voice so much softer Dylan's surprised. She holds out a pad of paper and pen towards Dylan, looking up at him with those damn sad eyes of hers. He's seen her use this look to con so many people before him, yet just like those others, he falls victim every time. He soon gives in and they begin to work.

They slave over sheet music and guitar strings for three and a half hours straight. Dylan's fighting back the urge to fall over while Phoebe seems cursed with a bad case of insomnia. To make things worse, she criticizes every little thing he does. He's singing in the wrong key, he's playing the wrong chord, his lyrics sound cheesy then his lyrics sound suicidal. The list goes on and she makes sure to let him know that she has a problem with every little detail.

"Phoebe," Dylan cries out, ready to rip his gorgeous hair from his head. "It's five thirty in the morning! We're supposed to be waking up in half an hour. Can you please let me sleep? We're obviously getting nowhere!"

Out of sheer frustration, Dylan rips the piece of paper from the spine of the book, angrily crushing it in the palm of his hand. He throws it towards the trashcan where it lands with another ten crumpled balls of paper. All ten are failed attempts that accumulated over the span of almost four hours.

"I don't think you get it, Dylan," Phoebe spits venomously and Dylan almost backs away in fright. "Everything has to be _perfect_. There's no way I'm going to let my bastard ex-boyfriend and his little band of wannabe emo losers take this away from us. Now, let's try the chorus again without it sounding like the marching band after a drinking game."

"So this is about a dude? What happened to being all about the music, Phoebe? This isn't about the music at all. It's about revenge," Dylan scowls. Everything clicks and it all boils over. "First you wake me up, almost break my arm, shatter my eardrums and then you yell at me even when I'm playing perfect. You know what? I'm done for today so I suggest you go find someone else who cares because I know I don't."

Dylan mentally prepares himself for the backlash and he's stunned when it doesn't come. Phoebe quietly stands from the couch and walks to the backdoor of the basement. She pulls it open with a squeak and walks out, piercingly slamming it behind her. Dylan folds his arms over his chest and stubbornly glares at the door. His eyelids slide close and he celebrates in the silence he's been craving for the last few hours.

Again, the silence is broken though it's not from screaming or loud car engines or music. Dylan hears whimpering. Phoebe isn't exactly known for crying or showing weakness. Dylan knows her well enough to see how she struggles, how she tries to hide her insecurities. No matter what her mood ring says, what mask she chooses to wear, Dylan's always able to look pass her walls and see a broken little girl with a guitar.

Slowly standing from his slouched position on the couch, Dylan walks out into the cool, early New London morning. He sees Phoebe sitting on the edge of the cliff, staring out into the ocean. With his hands in the pockets of his jeans, Dylan slowly approaches her with caution. "Pheebs…"

"What?" she shouts quite angrily. Her hands immediately rise to chase away her tears, soaking into the sleeve of her blouse. She swallows her sobs, making it seem as if she hasn't been balling for the last few minutes. "What are you doing out here? I thought you didn't care?"

"I do care!" Dylan retorts before exhaustedly dropping to his knees with a sigh. "I care about you, Pheebs. I care about the music. I care about winning the competition. It's just when you start fussing and criticizing every stupid thing I do. That's when it gets hard…"

"What's wrong with wanting to be perfect?" Phoebe asks softly, glancing in his directions. Locks of her beautiful brown, almost red hair falls in front of her face, being swept uncontrollably by the wind. Phoebe just looks away, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Nothing, it's just when you obsess over it then it isn't too cool. We're going to be awesome up there on stage no matter what. Why can't you see that?" Dylan questions in a soft voice, no longer irritated or angry.

It's quiet and Phoebe struggles to get out what's obvious.

"You're right," she admits with eyes on the green grass. "I guess I got a little carried away, but, seriously, I will rip my hair out if that arrogant, irritating wannabe Gene Simmons cheating loser won the competition."

"Cheating loser?" Dylan repeats questioningly, shooting her a rather sympathetic look. Deep down, he knows the answer to the question. He knew it all along.

Dylan studies her profile since she doesn't have the strength to look him straight on. He knows Phoebe won't explain herself, explain something that hurt her. Dylan knew it, knew it since two o'clock this morning, since the first time Phoebe started dating this guy. He's the person she was screaming at. Her fight with him was the reason Dylan woke up. He's the reason Phoebe's so worked up. He's the reason she's so determined to prove herself.

"I want us to be perfect and practice makes perfect," Phoebe speaks after a long pause. "It still is about the music. It always is. Seeing his face when we win is just icing on the cake."

"Forget him, Pheebs. I've got like tons of friends who want to date you," Dylan says lightheartedly, trying to be reassuring though in reality, he'd never let any of his friends date her. She deserves more than the tormented artists and troubled musicians that he hangs out with. "Why'd you date that loser in the first place?"

"Well, it wasn't like I had any better offers," Phoebe says with a humorless laugh.

"You'll find someone, Pheebs," Dylan assures her with a smile, wrapping his arm around her shoulders in an offering of comfort. The wind blows wildly as the sun starts to rise and brighten the sky. With his free hand, Dylan sweeps loose stands of hair away from her face and behind her ear. Momentarily, he loses himself in the beauty of her eyes.

In that moment something happens. Something changes. Dylan fails at understanding and controlling the warm sensation that fills his chest, the way his heart thumps wildly against his ribcage. He's suddenly overwhelmed with the need to protect her. No one is good enough for her. He loves her. As the two stare at each other, the horrible sound of Joni's saxophone breaks their concentration, causing the two to quickly, awkwardly look away.

"I guess we should go back inside," Phoebe says, standing and dusting the grass off her skinny jeans. The next thing Dylan hears is the sound of the back door opening and slamming shut. With a sigh, Dylan falls backwards, lying on the green grass at the edge of the lighthouse's cliff. He stares up into the early morning sky with a puzzled expression on his young face.

Strangely, he's confused. Even worse, he likes the feeling.


	2. My Past is your Past

**Temporary Lose of Sanity **

**Chapter Two: My Past is Your Past**

It's late into the afternoon when Phoebe's over her insomnia kick.

She's sprawled out across the old and beaten couch in the basement, eyes shut tight and breathing stable. Dylan stifles a yawn and runs his fingers through his brown locks that look as if they've never met a hairbrush. He's still tired from staying up half the night trying to write a song just to get nowhere. The rest of the band is supposed to come over soon and Dylan knows for a fact that they'll do strange things to him if they found him asleep.

A classic prank the bassist and drummer of their yet-to-be-named band included Dylan in a deep sleep, pig slump dumped onto his sleeping body and Fiona on Dylan, eating dinner off his face. Dylan woke up, screaming in sheer horror while the boys and Phoebe laughed and took pictures that ended up online within hours. Phoebe didn't even try to warn him, idly sitting by and joining in on the laughter.

Dylan secretly envies how Phoebe can sleep without a care in the world. The boys know better than to mess with her. When pissed off, Phoebe is like Godzilla on a rampage and even the boys aren't stupid enough to test her. They'd never dared to prank her. Instead, they bring her gifts (most likely food) each trip to the lighthouse. They treat her like a princess, their sweetness making Dylan gag each time.

Lying on the ugly, shag carpet of the basement, Dylan has a pencil and sketchbook in front of him. He glances up at a sleeping Phoebe, trying to get every detail of her face just perfect. She looks so peaceful, so natural. She doesn't resemble that scary girl that commanded him to slave over a sheet of music without a break earlier in the day. After catching himself staring a bit too long at the sketch, he shuts his book and rolls onto his back with a groan.

The busted radio leaves the room in complete silence. Too lazy to pick up an instrument or a pencil, Dylan's forced to find other means of entertainment. He thinks of Jason for a lingering moment and can feel the anger boiling deep within his veins. The jerk broke Phoebe's heart. Dylan hates seeing her sad. Even more so, he hates watching her come home night after night, in and out of relationships as often as she is.

_You broke my heart in two,  
Now I ain't got no duct tape to put it together for you.  
When I met you I thought I would die,  
I wanted to cry.  
Didn't know you were evil or that you would hurt me,  
Mr. Sci-Fi freaky band guy._

Dylan laughs softly to himself, wishing that he had written it down somewhere. The crappy little song is set to the tune of some old country song he had heard once upon a time. Dylan isn't into country. He worships bands like the Beatles and the Who, stalking the likes of Bishop Allen and Vampire Weekend. He knows for a fact that John Lennon would be shaking his head in shame if he heard that lame bit about Phoebe's ex.

"Mr. Sci-fi freaky band guy?" questions a voice from across the room, accompanied by little laugh. Dylan's slightly startled, but then sees Phoebe awake, hair all askew and smiles.

"Yup," Dylan confirms with a confident grin. "Seriously, Pheebs, the guy has a Darth Vader tattoo on his shoulder. That totally screams Sci-Fi freak and yeah, he's got a band too."

"Right, don't remind me," Phoebe groans and turns over on the couch, assumingly seeking slumber once again. Dylan shrugs effortlessly and jumps onto a rolling chair, spinning himself in a circle. "You know, I remember the day you were adopted. I remember mom and dad bringing you home…"

"All I remember is you hating me," Dylan chuckles, continuing to spin round and round.

"Yeah, I did," Phoebe sleepily confesses. "I mean, I freaked. I was ten…"

"You freaked me out and on my first day," Dylan admits, kicking against a pillar wrapped in a defaced Hannah Montana poster. The back of his chair hits the couch Phoebe's lounging on and he tilts his head up to look at her, their eyes meeting. "But hey, we do play together and we are awesome."

"So how did you learn how to play guitar before you became a North?" Phoebe asks with great interest. The question has always crossed her mind from time to time. She always wanted to know, but never asked.

"Well, um, I use to run away from the orphanage on a daily basis. I'd walk the streets and somehow always end up at this little hole-in-the-wall record store on Bleaker. I just…felt at home. The owner of the shop claimed to know my biological parents. He said my dad was a musician and I looked just like him. He sort of had a soft spot for me and gave me short, free lessons."

"You were good," Phoebe sighs. "Dad always said you were the next Lennon."

"Yeah, but you were always his Rockstar," Dylan reminds her, loving the small yet sad smile that graces her face. He knows it's a tough topic for Phoebe. Losing her dad is the worst thing to happen to her and it turned their world upside down.

"You started it all," Phoebe laughs and for a moment Dylan doesn't know what she means. He doesn't worry though because her expression is playful and she tosses a pillow at him. "In the last seven years we went from three kids to ten kids, but I'd never take it back. Without you…I don't know if I would have gotten through dad's…you know…"

"It's alright, Pheebs…it's alright…"

Dylan remembers that cold day in New York, walking down the grassy hill after the ceremony. Mr. Peter Anthony North is now six feet under and watching the casket be lowered into the ground was the hardest thing he had to endure ever. All of the people in attendance immediately go to comfort Helen and the younger, devastated children. Dylan just needs an escape for just a moment. He loosens his tie, oxygen not quite meeting his lungs.

Seeing a familiar girl dressed in black sitting beneath a tree, Dylan makes his way towards her. His throat is dry. He doesn't know the words to say. The nerves in him seem to explode when he sees the brunette with glistening cheeks. It's the very first time he's a witness to Phoebe North crying.

"_Hey…" _

_Phoebe glances up at him, looking so fatigued and broken. The tears continue to draw streams down her pale cheeks and she says nothing. Dylan holds his breath, looking into her eyes for five seconds at least. Phoebe then looks away and Dylan doesn't hesitate to sit in the dirt beside her. He wraps an arm around her trembling shoulders and she turns to cry on his shoulder. _

"_I don't get it, Dylan," Phoebe mutters through her tears. "He's gone. I was in the car with him. You were in the car with him. Why him and not us? What are we going to do? Mom's pregnant and our youngest brother is going to have to grow up, not knowing dad! Has she gone crazy? She wants to move us to Connecticut! Dad loves the city. How can we just pick up all our stuff and walk away?" _

_Loves. She uses the present tense and Dylan feels his heart break for her. _

"_Phoebe, it's hard for her," Dylan tries to explain though he still doesn't really know what to say. "This was dad's city. Everything around here just screams dad. It's too hard for her, Pheebs. She needs an escape." _

"_Dylan, what about my friends, our friends, the band we've been talking about putting together?" Phoebe questions fierily. "They need us." _

"_Mom needs us, Phoebe," Dylan sighs, pulling her tighter to him. "Plus, you lived in New London before."_

"_We moved to New York when I was five. Yeah, D, I made tones of friends back in Middle of Nowhere, Connecticut," Phoebe says with sarcasm, rolling her eyes. "I bet they'll be a bunch of stuck up preppy country kids. What exactly is in Connecticut? God, the city has such unexplainable energy and I'm pretty sure New London won't compare."_

"_Probably," Dylan absentmindedly agrees, a smile creeping its way onto his face. "Dad always said the city had energy like no other place in the world. Connecticut may not be able to compare, but we just have to deal. C'mon, we're Norths, we'll bring the energy to New London. We'll show those evil preppies how we rock." _

"_They better be ready," she grins. "We definitely know how to rock and there are a lot of us." _

"_Seriously," he chuckles, "We're the oldest and that means we need to take care of the others, especially mom and the baby. You gotta help me because I know I can't take care of em' on my own." _

"_Of course," Phoebe nods. "__I promise." _

_Dylan holds her even tighter and Phoebe allows her head to hit nicely in the crook of his neck. Dylan wants to be strong even though he's just lost the only father figure he had ever had. Now he has to step up and take care of the family. It's a tough job especially with nine other siblings. The two simply sit together under that tree in the cemetery until Naoko finds them. They quickly separate and trek back up the hill, ready to face the future. _

Dylan stares at his sneakers after reliving a moment from their past. It's now that he realizes how much they've gone through together, especially after the move to New London and the birth of their tenth sibling, Aldo. New London High is pretty much the preppy capital of the world; however, their mother is an alumni and she insists on them followed in her footsteps. Eventually they manage to find some talent and eventually form a band.

"Why do you always do that, Rodge?"

"What the fuck, Hunter? I was being friendly."

"You were _flirting_ with Christina. Last time I checked your _girlfriend's_ name is _Silver_."

"Damn dude, get off my ass, you psycho incestuous homo."

"Fuck you, man."

Phoebe groans irritably and presses her face into the arm of the couch, trying to stop the bits and pieces of a conversation from meeting her ears. Dylan sighs with slumping shoulders and jumps to his feet, quickly flinging the back door wide open. Two teenage boys, mid-fight with fists ready to strike, turn to Dylan with wide, innocent grins.

"We brought the goods!"

"Dear lord," Dylan mumbles irritably, leaning heavily against the door. "Pheebs, whatever possessed us to let these two idiots into our band?"

"Utter stupidity," Phoebe dully replies; her voice muffled through the cushions of the couch.

Grinning like the Cheshire cat straight out of Alice in Wonderland, Rodge Montgomery invites himself into the basement; carelessly tossing his car keys (with a little Pikachu figurine on the ring) to the coffee table and carefully leans his bass up against the couch. He falls into the swirling chair Dylan once occupied, popping his dirty Converse up against the arm of the couch.

Rodge is a senior at New London High, known for constantly causing scandals and drama, ruining friendships and having broken many hearts down the high school halls. His hair is jet black and floppy, falling in the way of his dark, mischievous eyes most of the time. He wears a fitted white v-neck, black skinny jeans over his long, lanky legs and studded belts looped around his waist.

The other is the three minute older and two inch taller Hunter Montgomery. Known as the school's King of Jocks, Hunter is powerfully built, tan and gorgeous. His eyes are hidden by bronze tinted aviators, his hair, short, dark and tousled. He wears a Herculean smile on his fine, chiseled jaw, a blue, black and white plaid flannel shirt thrown sloppily over a simple white t-shirt and drumsticks in the back pocket of his fitted, blue jeans.

Phoebe sits up and curiously watches as Hunter settles down beside her on the couch. She easily steals his sunglasses and he wraps his strong arms around her in a gentle hug, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek. She groans irritably, wiping her cheek and he chuckles triumphantly. Once pulling back, Phoebe's lips quirk into a smile as she asks, "Whatcha bring me, Hunt?"

"Only the last four red velvet cupcakes down at Bliss Bakery," Hunter answers giddily and the grin stretches across Phoebe's face as she excitedly clasps hers hands. She watches as the strong, muscular teen shoots his twin brother a glare. "Well, now it's just three since Rodge just had to give one to Christina."

"Get over it, yah fatty," Rodge growls from across the room. "Why do you care anyways?"

"Because Christina's nice and Silver trusts you," Hunter says slowly as if he's trying to communicate with a mentally challenged youth. "Playing with their heads, it isn't cool, man."

"Dude," Rodge says slowly, staring curiously at his brother. "That's like the gayest thing _ever_."

"Fuck you, you Joe Jonas wannabe," scowls the captain of the football team.

"I love Bliss cupcakes," Phoebe interrupts, ignoring the bickering between the two brothers. She easily flips open the flap of the mint green box and plucks out one of the three red velvet cupcakes complete with cream cheese frosting.

"I love watching you eat Bliss Cupcakes, pretty girl," Rodge smirks; leering at Phoebe who rolls her eyes at the comment that isn't exactly a surprise especially coming from the school flirt.

"Rodge, shut up," Dylan demands, slamming the door. He easily swoops in and steals the last cupcake, plopping down on the old coffee table that crackles beneath his weight.

"Screw you, North. We all know that one day your sister's going to wake up and realize that I'm the guy for her," Rodge says with a wink at the only girl in the room. He rests his palms behind his head and coolly leans back. "Whether it's Phoebe or Christina that wins me, well, how about we let an inflatable pool of pudding decide?"

The boys share a soft chuckle and Phoebe glares.

"Rodger James Montgomery, you're a disgusting bastard, you know?"

"Love you too, babe," he smirks in reply.

"Hey Pheebs," Hunter draws the brunette's attention before she can launch herself across the basement and strangle his little brother. He places his large hands on her slim shoulders and forces her down against the seat to which she responds with a quizzical look.

"What is it, Hunt?"

"I won't be able to make practice tomorrow," he sighs and rubs the back of his neck − always a nervous little quirk when it comes to Hunter. Phoebe's face drops, Dylan looks away and Rodge pulls out his cell phone, texting like nothing has happened.

"What the fuck, Hunter?" Phoebe explodes unexpectedly, looking to tear the jock's head off.

"Phoebe!" Dylan calls warningly though she easily disregards it.

"What could possibly be more important than the band?" Phoebe interrogates and Hunter stares down at his nervously twiddling fingers. At school and around town, Hunter is intimidation personified, radiating aura that demands respect. Only the wrath of Phoebe North can reduce the quarterback to a scared little boy.

"It's my coach, Pheebs," Hunter continues, feeling guilty and afraid. "Listen, I've got some big name colleges: Penn State, Georgia Tech, Duke, Columbia and USC fighting over me. They want me, _me_, some hometown hero from New London frickin' Connecticut. It's my shot."

"If it's what you want, Hunt, then you should do what you have to do. Chasing the dream, right?" Dylan pipes in before Phoebe can get a word out. He smiles reassuringly at his friend and Phoebe seems to simmer, choosing to stare blankly at the wall across the room.

"Before Mr. Sunshine and Rainbows can change the subject," Rodge cuts in, shooting Dylan a playful grin. "We seriously need to discuss the pit of suckiness that is this band."

"We don't suck," Dylan argues, licking the light, fluffy cream cheese frosting from his upper lip. "We just need a little inspiration is all…"

"We need a miracle actually," Rodge counters hopelessly. Phoebe flings a small pillow at him with all her strength, causing the high school womanizer to playfully smile and feign pain.

Dylan sits back and looks at his band, the vengeance-seeking girl who woke him up at 2 AM to start writing, the boy trying to juggle his sports career along with being the drummer of their band and last but certainly not least, the womanizer who never knows when to shut up. Dylan would never voice it for fear of Phoebe's wrath, but there is some truth to Rodge's words.

They need a miracle.


	3. Brain Like Scrambled Eggs

**Temporary Insanity**

**Chapter Three: Brain like Scrambled Eggs**

After too much time spent wallowing in self-pity, they actually start working, sadly to no avail. The most progress the nameless band seems to make is Phoebe silently forgiving Hunter when he volunteers to go pick up a pizza for lunch and brings her, just her, a whole apple crumb pie from their favorite bakery. Individually they're all creative souls, but being crammed in one room on a humid Saturday afternoon results is a lack of creativity and more chaos.

"Girls should stay in the kitchen and stop their bitchin'. Make me a sandwich, girl. Just don't make me hurl…" Dylan reads the sheet of paper out loud and the Rodge realizes it was funnier three hours ago. With an irritated glare on his face, Dylan crumples the piece of paper and shoots it off in the direction of the trashcan. "Rodge, you're lame."

"Not to mention a sexist pig," Phoebe is sure to add. "Honestly, did Hunter get all the good genes? I swear, sometimes I can't believe you two are actually twins."

"One, I don't see you losers coming up with anything better. Two, it's the weekend! My brain is like scrambled eggs," Rodge fights, moving his perspiring body in front of the slowly spinning fan. "Plus, my girlfriend's been bitchin' at me for weeks now. She gave me an ultimatum, the band or her."

"Rodge, _please_ tell me you chose the band," Dylan practically begs, holding his breath. He's good friends with both Rodge and his girlfriend, Silver, though he isn't a big fan of them as a couple. They're both stubborn and explosive. It always leaves Dylan on edge, knowing this relationship can blow up at any second and force all of them to choose sides yet again.

"Yeah, he told her he chose the band," Phoebe says with sarcasm, curled up in the recliner. "Right after he told her about him cheating on her with that redhead cheerleader skank."

"It isn't considered _cheating_ if we weren't together at the time," Rodge sneers defensively and Phoebe rolls her eyes, not buying it. "Silver and I were on a break, thank you very much."

"Aren't you together right now?" Phoebe asks to which Rodge nods a yes. "See, flirting with me is one thing. I know better than to even consider falling for a scum bag. Now Christina, she's a different story."

"I wasn't flirting with Christina," he denies heatedly. "I was being nice."

"Dude, you gave Christina your cupcake," Hunter reminds him with a knowing grin. "You wouldn't even give grandma your cup cake and her blood sugar was dipping."

"Anyways," Rodge growls, his irritation building when he sees Phoebe and Hunter slyly high-five in triumph. He slicks back his hair and turns to Dylan who seems like the only one in the room not out to get him. "I told Silver I'd think about it and she got even more upset."

Dylan shakes his head. "Rodge, are you retarded? It's Silver we're talking about! Of course she got upset!"

"Everything's all fucked up with her," Rodge says with no emotion in his voice. The other three trade looks of concern. "I don't even know how to talk to her anymore. Ever since…you know…she's been _different_ and I'm sick and tired of constantly fighting with her. I might as well just walk away now and let her be some other dude's problem."

"If someone asked me if Rodge Montgomery was a bad guy five minutes ago, I would have said he's a compulsive flirt, sure, but he has a good heart," Phoebe explains stoically. "Now not so much. How can you jut write her off like that? I thought you loved her."

Rodge chuckles bitterly. "I did too."

"That's messed up, man," Hunter mumbles under his breath. "Silver deserves better."

Dylan can see the dark look in Rodge's eyes. He knows the talented bassist and he can anticipate an angry outburst. Dylan stands, "Hey! Let's get back to the reason we're here, okay? I know it's hot and we aren't making much progress, but we need to focus. I mean, we don't even have a name yet."

"You all hate my ideas so whatever," Rodge sneers irritably.

"That's because your ideas make us sound cheap. Behind the Bleachers, really, Rodge, what is that?" Phoebe asks, occasionally looking up from a notebook she's been flipping through. Rodge is a moment away from a snarling retort when Hunter accidentally (on purpose) hurls his drumstick to the floor, almost hitting Phoebe. Being a mature high school senior, Phoebe finds a sneaker stuffed between the cushions of the couch and hurls it at the drummer's head.

"Hey, cut it out!" Dylan shouts before Hunter has a chance to retaliate. Dylan stands between the two who resort to pulling immature faces at one another. "God, guys, can't we wait out the writer's block without killing each other?"

"Whatever man," Rodge groans, snapping his cell phone shut. He hoists himself up and off the ground, sitting and searching for his car keys. "Hunter, we gotta go. I promised mom we'd stop by the grocery store since she's working a double shift tonight."

Phoebe snatches the silver car keys off from the table and Rodge simply walks out of the basement, looking annoyed. Hunter sighs when seeing his brother's demeanor and holds his hand out, giving Phoebe a stern look. She tosses him the keys and a grin breaks out on Hunter's handsome face as he pulls the girl into a binding embrace.

"We're cool, right, Pheebs?"

"I guess," she answers playful. "Your twin, now he's not exactly on my good side."

"Yeah, he's been going through some shit, but he'll get over it and come crawling back. He always does," he says though all Phoebe hears is Hunter yet again making excuses for his brother. Phoebe holds her tongue and tightens her arms around his neck. Hunter lifts Phoebe off her feet for a moment, the two breaking apart in laughter. "See yah."

"Hey," Phoebe calls out. "Don't you have a game this week?"

"Tuesday," Hunter nods. "It's my last one of the season, the championship game again Kennedy so it'd be nice if my real friends would show up for once and support me."

"I can't make promises, Hunt, sorry," Phoebe says, cringing at the idea of being around the peppy, loud and irking majority of their high school. It isn't exactly Phoebe's scene. Hunter frowns sadly and it's like a jab to her heart. "Hey Montgomery, if you lose I'll kick your ass!"

"I'll keep that in mind," Hunter breaks out in a smile. Before walking out, he winks at her, an action so charming and beautiful it makes most girls swoon. "Bye Pheebs. Bye Dylan."

"Later Hunt," Dylan calls dully, lazily locking the backdoor before crossing the room and sprawling out across the long, unoccupied couch. With his head hanging off the cushions, Dylan looks at Phoebe upside down, watching her continue to flip through the pages of a worn notebook.

"Rodge is seriously getting out of hand, Dylan."

"Well, it doesn't make things better when you pick fights with him, Pheebs."

"If not me, then who will?" Phoebe asks and Dylan has no answer for her. "Seriously, someone needs to call out Rodge on all his bullshit. If not, he's going to think what he's doing is okay which it most definitely isn't."

"Okay, I surrender," Dylan says playfully, holding up his hands. Phoebe shrugs her thin shoulders and turns back to a small book in her lap, her fingers flirting with the upper corner of the current page. "Hey, what's that?"

"Huh?" Phoebe asks in reply, looking up from her journal. She instantly shuts it and smiles weakly. "Oh, nothing…just some old stuff I wrote. It seriously sucks. That pathetic song Rodge wrote was ten times better than any of this."

"Trust me, Pheebs, nothing can suck worst than that," Dylan laughs softly and runs his palm across his tired face. He reaches his hand out and Phoebe looks a tad bit nervous. "Let me see…"

"No!" Phoebe shouts, pressing her notebook to her chest and hugging it tightly. "These are my deepest, most personal thoughts. No way am I going to let you read any of this."

Before Dylan can put to action a foolproof plan to annoy Phoebe until she gives in and lets him see her notebook, Helen's voice echoes through the lighthouse, calling all the children to dinner. Phoebe instantly shoots out of her seat and marches towards the stairs, slyly sliding her notebook into her backpack lying lifelessly on the floor.

"C'mon, D, before Frank resurrects that stupid whistle."

"I know, like we're fucking dogs or something," Dylan scowls, hating the monotonous routines Frank Beardsley had once tried to press upon their boundless family. "You go ahead. I'm just going to, uh, check all the amps and turn everything off."

"Cool," Phoebe agrees, not giving his words much thought. Her eyes narrow for a moment and suddenly Dylan forces an innocent smile on his face. "I swear, Dylan, if you read my notebook I'll strangle you."

"Didn't even cross my mind," he coolly lies and she gives him one last look before continuing up the stairs. After seeing her completely gone, Dylan's smile turns into one of mischief. "But now that you mentioned it, I gotta have a peek."

First Dylan goes to the electrical equipment and does as he said he would, unplugging everything. He flips off lights and heads to the stairs. The little devil within him can't help it. He stops and stares at the red backpack on the floor, immediately consumed by curiosity. He sits on the cold, basement steps and gingerly reaches into the backpack as if it were a crocodile's mouth. Quickly, he pulls out the notebook and takes a deep breath before diving in.

When he first opens the notebook, Dylan curses when all the colorful pamphlets fall out and scatters onto the floor. Each and every glossy paper advertises a New York universities and college. It's only then that Dylan remembers that Phoebe's a senior and leaving.

He flips through the pages and chuckles when seeing little doodles in the margins. It isn't much of a diary. It's just lyrics, potential hits that fill what was once nothing. Dylan skims through page after page before realizing that he's halfway through the book. He smiles when he finds one in green ink. It's perfect.

"Dylan!"

"Coming!" he shouts automatically though refuses to budge. After stuffing all the pamphlets into the back of the book, he shoves it messily into Phoebe's bag. As he heads up the stairs to the dinning room, Dylan has a smirk on his face, filling his usual seat in between Joni and Jimi.

With twenty people all seated at one really large table, dinner is hectic; however, for the North-Beardsley family, it simply routine at this point. That's why they hardly invites their friends over for supper − besides the rare moments when the Montgomery twins stay after a long jam session in the basement. Normal people would usually be turned off by the ongoing drama between the Beardsleys and the Norths, but at this point it's expected and routine.

"Hey Dylan," Phoebe throws across the table, grinning impishly. "Don't you just _love_ red velvet cupcakes?"

"Yeah, especially from Bliss," Dylan continues, catching on to Phoebe's game. His eyes dart over to the J. Crew clad blonde and his lips twist in a grin. "Christina, don't you just _love_ red velvet cupcakes from Bliss?"

The cheerleader keeps her eyes on her plate. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh please," Phoebe sneers playfully, smiling at the way Christina's face takes on a newfound shade of red. "I heard about you flirting with Rodge Montgomery. You do know he has a girlfriend, right?"

Christina's eye twitches. "Oh."

"Claire Silverberg, usually goes by Silver, great taste in music, not so great people skills. Oh, and her uncle owns Electric Lady Studios, you know, in Greenwich Village, built by Hendrix," Dylan explains, smiling to himself. "She used to hang with us at New London, but one too many dumb decisions and now she goes to this little all-girls catholic school up north."

"What'd she do?" Christina wonders aloud.

"I'll tell you later," Phoebe grins, "not real appropriate dinner conversation."

"Silver isn't that bad," William joins the conversation. "Well, you have to get to know her first and after…a couple months, she's a pretty cool person."

Dylan's brows furrow. "Silver isn't exactly your type of people, _Willy_. How would you know that?"

"You seem to be forgetting, _Dyl_," he replies, clearing his throat, "Silver was Brooke's best friend."

The entire dinner table falls silent besides the clinging of glasses and forks scratching plates. Mostly sympathetic eyes fall on William who continues to plow through his dinner with little emotion on his face. Brooke Ferris is a name not said too often down the halls of the lighthouse. After all, she is the first New London girl to steal William Beardsley's heart and shatter it.

Down the table, a little boy fusses and it makes for a good distraction.

"Aldo North, finish those carrots," Helen instructs an already grouchy four-year-old who not-so-subtly tries to feed his vegetables to the family pig. Dismayed over being caught, Aldo raises his head violently and crossed his arms across his chest.

"I'm a Beardsley, not a North!" Aldo screams and utter silence fills the room. Forks fall out of suddenly numb hands, jaws go slack and eyes widen. Frank straightens in his seat, his smile proud and Phoebe glares with unadulterated hatred and pain.

"Dude, that's not cool," Jimi mutters to Dylan who can only nod. "Five bucks says Phoebe freaks…"

"Not even I'm stupid enough to take that bet," Dylan quietly replies. "Go scam a Beardsley…"

"Aldo!" Phoebe screams; her voice shaking as she fights for control of her emotions. Her pretty brown eyes slant, glaring at the young boy. He's four. She's seventeen. They shouldn't have this argument; however, when Phoebe's angry like she has been on this very long Saturday, keeping her at bay is like fighting the wind.

"Phoebe, Aldo, let's all just calm down," Helen says slowly, trying to keep Mount Phoebe from erupting. "It doesn't matter what our last name is. We're all one big happy family now."

"It doesn't matter?" Phoebe repeats hotly, slamming a fork down onto her meatless plate. "How can you say our last name doesn't matter? It's the last name we got from our _real_ dad! That's all I have left of him and you want me to deny it?!"

Shoving her chair backwards, Phoebe attempts to leave with furry on her face.

"Phoebe, let's be reasonable," Frank says calmly from across the room. Despite his cool and collected tone, Phoebe keeps walking, disregarding him completely. "Phoebe North, you get back here this instant, young lady!"

Standing still for a few seconds, Phoebe turns her disgusted glare on him him.

"Don't you get it, Frank? I've been supporting of this marriage. Yeah, I know you'd expect this from a four-year-old, but it's just how I feel. I'm glad you're happy together, really, but acting like my dad never existed is wrong." Her eyes scan over the faces at the table, pausing for a moment on her stepfather before she stomps down the halls, her rampage ending with the slam of a door.

"What's her problem?" William questions with a scoff, returning his attention to the plate of food before him. Honestly, he's sick of all the drama. Nothing's ever normal around the lighthouse.

"Shut up, William," Christina hisses and lightly smacks her brother's arm. "Phoebe seemed really upset."

The eldest of the Beardsleys snorts, "When is Phoebe not upset?"

"Cut it out, man," Dylan quickly interjects, wearing a glare of his own. "We, Norths, have been through shit you can't even imagine so I suggest you shut your mouth before you say something that makes you look like a bigger ass than you already are."

William glares. "Like what?"

Dylan's upset at the way William's pushing, fists ready, face angry.

"When, um, dad…died, we all took it pretty hard, but Phoebe took it the hardest," Joni explains sadly, her hand on Dylan's arm, trying to settle him. She doesn't say more, fearing she's betraying her sister.

"It's true," Helen continues with a sad sigh, concerned eyes on the ceiling. "Phoebe would starve herself to the point where she's pass out, claiming she wanted to pass out so she wouldn't have to listen to the sound of everyone crying. It's also when she began her radical campaigns to save the environment…the kids went through necessary yet completely voluntary counseling and I thought we were all starting to heal…"

"Phoebe's the strongest person I know," Naoko cuts in with a sad smile on her pale, Asian face. She'd never tell her, but Phoebe's somewhat of a role model. "If we give her some time she'll bounce back. She always does."

Dylan looks around at his siblings, some new and some old. He then looks to his mother and stepfather, Helen's eyes glazed with nostalgia and Frank ruthlessly cutting through his roast beef with a knife, obviously uncomfortable with the way dinner conversation was going. Dylan can't seem to understand how everyone can talk about her, pity her and still do nothing about it.

Suddenly, he drops his fork and pushes his chair back. Without a word, he shoves his cold hands into his pockets and quietly leaves the room, mentally preparing himself for one hell of a pep talk.


	4. It Could Be You

**Temporary Insanity**

**Chapter Four: It Could Be You**

To be perfectly honest, Dylan has no idea what he's going to say to Phoebe.

The high school junior rounds the corner of the kitchen and cringes, walking quickly pass the room designated as Mrs. Munion's. Dylan really isn't in the mood to see the older woman during her routine evening martini. Quickly, Dylan walks through the doorway leading down to the basement. Hearing silent sobs, Dylan slows his pace, nearing the bottom of the stairs.

"It could be you…"

"What?" Phoebe questions with hostility. "Go the fuck away, Dylan!"

"Pheebs, chill!" Dylan commands, trying to usher her away. Her fingertips are red having been used to pry open and dig through stacks of cardboard boxes, all in disarray. With a frustrated cry, Phoebe backs into the corner of the room, leaning back against one of the concrete walls. Her beautifully pale face is stained with tears as she blankly stared forward with glazed eyes. "No one's asking you to forget dad…"

"I can't go on living like this, Dylan," Phoebe huffs, falling back on her knees. "I tried. I really tried to be okay with this whole one huge happy family thing mom keeps trying to sell us, but how can I while Aldo's calling Frank _dad_ and refusing to be a North?"

"You can't blame him, Pheebs," Dylan sighs. "For one, he's four and he never got to know dad the way you and me did."

"I know," Phoebe confesses, her face taking on a guilty tint. She runs her hands along the smooth skin of her milky shoulders and stares at the ground. "I just miss him, you know?"

Without saying a word, Dylan starts going through the boxes yet to be opened. If a search for some of their father's old belongings cheers up Phoebe then Dylan's going to search even if it kills him. He falls to his knees, sifting through boxes and boxes of crushed newspaper and clothing stained with his scent. Eventually they find an old vintage record player and a few vinyl records.

Peter North was a great man and a talented musician. Throughout their childhood, he constantly surrounded them with music, taking them to local festivals and concerts. It was his life. Phoebe and Dylan are making sure that their father's dream lives on through them.

At one point, Phoebe drifts off, but then is awoken by a sharp poke to her side. Her eyelids flutter open and she's met by large, chocolate doe eyes and a fluffy bush of hair. She smiles fondly at the child who's looking directly returning her gaze. Phoebe groans and sits up, allowing the little boy to crawl beside her on the couch.

"I'm sorry, Phoebe," Aldo apologizes in his little squeaky voice that enchants everyone who hears it. "Mick and Jimi were saying I betrayed blood and should be thrown to the lions whatever that is, but I don't want to be thrown to the lions. Then Naoko said I made you sad and I don't like when you're sad, honest."

"It's okay, kiddo," Phoebe smiles gently.

"Dylan says it's because you miss daddy that you're sad."

"Dylan knows me better than I know myself," Phoebe admits to her little brother in the silence of the room. Aldo leans comfortably into him and her arm falls across his shoulders. Something catches her eye from across the room and she crawls to retrieve a framed photo from a box.

"Is that you?" he gasps and immediately grasps the photograph with both of his little hands.

"Yeah, me and dad," Phoebe whispers with eye glazed over, running her fingertip against the smooth frame. It's an old black and white photograph of Peter North sitting with his favorite guitar, a beautiful Epiphone Elitist 1965 Casino. A little Phoebe in pigtails is sitting at his feet, watching him play with sheer admiration.

"I wish I got to meet him, Phoebe."

"Aw, I do too, Aldo," she whispers and lets her hand fall on his head. Phoebe reaches into another box, pulling out a photograph that seems equally as ancient. "I was going to wait till you were older, but seeing as your birthday's this weekend…"

Aldo's little face brightens at the mention of his birthday and he takes the picture into his hands. It's a photo that was taken in the same black and white film (their father's favorite) with most of the adopted kids, Helen North and Peter North with his hand on his wife's enlarged abdomen.

"Whoa," Aldo mutters, "momma's got a big belly."

Phoebe laughs, "Right, Al, that's you."

It takes the young boy a moment before he gasps.

"_Ohhh_."

"So you did meet him," Phoebe says, smiling. "Well, Sorta."

"Thanks for showing this to me, Phoebe." Aldo shows his gratitude and suddenly looks up at her with those large, innocent eyes. "You forgive me, right?"

"Of course," Phoebe answers with a small smile, encircling his small frame with her arms. "I can't resist those North eyes. They're like kryptonite."

_Just like dad had. _

"Hey Big Al," Dylan mumbles, coming down the stairs and smiling fondly at the oldest North kid embracing the youngest. "Ethan says you better get your butt upstairs and help him clean up your toys before Frank has an aneurism."

Phoebe laughs softly. "Four-year-old Ethan used 'aneurism' in a sentence?"

"Not exactly," Dylan guiltily responds.

Phoebe raises an eyebrow in a challenging manner. "Do you even know what an aneurism is?"

"Do I look like a guy who stays awake during Physiology or even chose to take Physiology?" Dylan asks rhetorically and jumps onto the couch, claiming the arm as his seat. Aldo tilts his head in adorable display of confusion and Dylan sighs. "Just go, Al."

"Okay," the little boy sighs and stands after giving his sister an affectionate hug and peck on the cheek. "Goodnight Phoebe. Goodnight Dylan."

"Hey! You better Google what an aneurism is and memorize it! I'm going to quiz you in the morning!" Dylan shouts, pointing playfully at the young boy who jets off up the stairs and out of sight. Laughing softly, Dylan stares into the space at the foot of the steps and Phoebe stares at him.

"Thanks, Dylan…for everything…"

"Thank you…for writing this song," Dylan says with a smirk as he pulls out the green notebook that he wasn't permitted to touch. Flipping through the pages, Dylan finds the specific one that caught his eye. "It could be you…"

"God Dylan, can you respect my privacy for once?" Phoebe snaps, tearing the book from his loose fingers. With a frustrated growl, Phoebe stomps away, leaving Dylan sitting there, rather perturbed. Yanking the strap of his acoustic guitar securely across his chest, Dylan chases after Phoebe who's looking to retreat to her room.

"Phoebe!" Dylan yells just to be answered by her bedroom door slamming shut in his face. Dylan simply sighs, pressing the back of his head to her door, slowly sliding down to the floor. "I thought about your song, you know. It's awesome. It's all I could think about through dinner. Pheebs, listen..."

He plucks a guitar pick from his back pocket and positions his fingers perfectly against the frets and began strumming. Having forgotten the actual lyrics, Dylan hums how he imagined the melody would go. Enjoying himself, playing in the hallway, he nods his head to the beat, his hair falling across his face like a sheet of milk chocolate. All the crap they thought up earlier is nothing compared to this.

Suddenly the door flies open causing Dylan to fall backwards, his head hitting the wooden floor hard. He looked up to see Phoebe standing there with one hand on her hip, pouting. "You're playing it wrong…but I have to admit…it sounds better than I thought…"

Dylan sits up and watches as Phoebe walks deeper into her room, flipping open the familiar green notebook. Dylan soon joins her, plopping down on the edge of her bed, a bit hesitant that she might bite his head off once again. It's silent as Phoebe searches for the specific page and turns the notebook towards Dylan. She avoids his gaze at all cost and he looks over the words, smiling with glee.

"It's an amazing song," Dylan compliments her though Phoebe doesn't seem any less unnerved. "So why were you holding out on us? We could have been working this when Dumb and Dumber were over. Now I'm kinda regretting telling Hunter to ditch tomorrow's practice for football."

"I can't sing it, Dylan," Phoebe says, staring down at her chipping nail polish.

"Come on, Pheebs, you don't sing _that_ bad," Dylan says jokingly. He instantly regrets the remark when Phoebe shoots him such a serious expression that he gulps nervously. He's never seen her like this before. "Why?"

"It's about someone," Phoebe mutters, once again avoiding Dylan's eyes. "Remember when I went on the NYU college visit during winter break? Yeah, I was totally homesick when I wrote this. I just couldn't wait to get home and see him again."

With a slight smile on her face, Phoebe tucks loose strands of her hair behind her ear and finally looks to Dylan.

"Oh."

Dylan looks away, seeing her face glazed with some sort of emotion he can't interpret − nostalgia maybe. Mentally he tries to figure out who she's talking about. Phoebe wasn't dating Jason at the time. If he could remember correctly she broke up with the guy with the BMV. Dylan smiles, remember how the band gave that BMV a new paint job that resembled a Jackson Pollock consisting of eggs, shaving cream, tooth paste and bologna.

"Pheebs…"

"Yeah?"

"The guy…it's not Rodge or Hunter, right?" Dylan questions and Phoebe laughs out loud. A smirk breaks out across the musician's face when he sees her smile. She has a beautiful smile. Dylan's convinced that she could light the world with it if she showed if off more.

"Okay, I'm not stupid. Rodge is charming, but getting involved with him knowing he's a womanizer is like emotional suicide. Hunter's sweet, but I don't know if I can date a guy who chooses football over music," Phoebe explains, shaking her head. "Plus, I don't get involved with guys in the band."

"Just making sure," Dylan nods, feeling a bit strange at the realization that he had been holding his breath while waiting for her answer. "Um, if, yes, _if_ we use this song I think it should be fast pace with shard chords."

"Cool…but you know, that's a big if," Phoebe counters. She turns her attention to the lyrics with a blue ballpoint pen in her hand. Dylan slides his fingers up and down the fret board, trying different chords, looking for something that would fit. As Dylan plays with the beat, Phoebe bites on the bottom of her lip, reading the lyrics over and over. It means a lot to her. To other people it's just words. To Phoebe it's her heart written on a piece of paper.

Soon the two get more comfortable with it and the collaboration commences. By the time Dylan convinces Phoebe that the lyrics are perfect he has a tempo all worked out. They decide to make it a duet, knowing the twins won't argue. They echo and sing backup occasionally, but never lead. That's usually Dylan's role in the band though now he's decided to share it with Phoebe.

_You and me, all alone  
It's to late to say we didn't know  
We shouldn't be, all alone  
One of us might lose control  
All these feelings we've been hiding  
Deep down, yah they must start to show  
Not here, not now  
Watching my frustrations grow _

As Dylan stares down at the iron strings of his guitar, Phoebe glances at him with a small smile. It's a smile that disappears as soon as he turns towards her.

_I know what I feel and you feel it too  
I dream of the first kiss and who'll make the first move  
Who's gonna put their heart on the line  
It could be me  
It could be you, tonight_

Dylan can feel her watching him, her eyes burning into the side of his face. Things aren't the same as before. With this song, everything changes.

_Show me, who you are  
Stop me before I go to far  
'Cuz it hurts, to hold back  
So hold me or I might crack  
I'm gasoline, you're the match  
I'm not sure if we could handle that  
It might explode, could be a mess  
I say we take the chance_

This is where the amazing guitar solo would go. Phoebe wants to make her father proud…make Dylan proud.

_I know what I feel and you feel it too  
I dream of the first kiss and who'll make the first move  
Who's gonna put their heart on the line  
It could be me…It could be you... tonight_

"It was pretty good. At least we've got a chorus and a couple of verses down."

"Are you kidding? That was amazing!"

A moment of silence passes and leaves the two gazing into the other's eyes. They're both out of breath, panting heavily. Dylan flexes his fingers, numb from handling the guitar with such intensity. With one last sigh, Dylan let the acoustic guitar drop to the ground. He then looks over at Phoebe with a breathtakingly handsome grin. As if it's infectious, a slow smile makes its way across Phoebe's face too.

Dylan pushes himself further towards the middle and leans back against the wall the bed is pushed up against. Phoebe mimics his movement, leaning her head against Dylan's broad shoulder. The two are still in awe at the work of art they produced. It's still raw and has a long way to go, but they're proud nonetheless. Nothing, no one could ruin the moment or wipe off the matching smiles the two North kids have on their faces.

Dylan tilts his head downward, feeling his heart beating fast and hard against his ribcage, matching the pace of the song they just wrote. He doesn't have time to contemplate the palpitations of his heart because that's when he notices her staring at him. There's something in her eyes that makes his throat go dry and something within him snaps.

It's as if his mind shuts down and his body goes into autopilot. All he sees is the beauty in her big chocolate brown eyes, staring at him so deeply, straight into his soul. He may have hesitated for a second, but it's only one second. Unable to control himself, Dylan lowers his head, gently brushes his lips against hers.

He feels her lips linger against his before they break apart and reality comes crashing down on him like a ton of bricks. Phoebe's eyes are wide, shocked, confused and petrified. Scared shitless of what he's just done, Dylan jumps back, scrambling to the door like a frightened child. He trips over himself several times, needing to get away as quickly as possible.

"Yeah, Pheebs," he mumbles awkwardly, not looking back. "I'll see you…uh…g'night…"

She doesn't say a thing. She says nothing because she's lost all motor skills, her body refusing to respond, refusing to move, most importantly refusing to stop him from leaving. The next thing Phoebe hears is the slamming of her bedroom door, scurrying down the hall and another slam. She doesn't blink once.

This is where things get complicated.

* * *

**"It Could Be You" © Alexz Johnson**


	5. So Much Left Unsaid

**Temporary Insanity**

**Chapter Five: So Much Left Unsaid**

It's Sunday and all is silent in the lighthouse.

Phoebe North leans back against wall beside her bed with smooth, porcelain legs folded beneath her. Her eyes are wide open, vacant and staring out the open window, her gaze off into the darkness that is the ocean. She has just emerged from the bathroom, having taken a shower in hopes that the steaming water could cleanse her mixed up mind, but all it did is leave her hair soaking wet.

She knows the sun will be up in an hour or so and then the lighthouse will come alive with daily doings, arguments and fights. She knows that if she doesn't show up for breakfast that everyone (especially Helen) will bubble over with worry and pester her to no end. She also knows she has to leave the comforts of her bed and confront Dylan. The thought makes her shiver and pull her knees to her chest.

She _kissed_ Dylan or maybe Dylan kissed her, but that little detail is the least of her worries. The unthinkable has taken place and the worst part of all, Phoebe actually _liked_ it.

Most of all, Phoebe knows she needs help. At this point, having stayed awake more than half the night and rising before even the earliest of birds, she's even considering professional help, a psychologist maybe or even a therapist.

Phoebe has no idea how she allowed things to slip from her control, for things to go so wrong. She knows everything's wrong especially her reaction to the kiss, the way she forgot everything. With that brief connection of their lips, she forgets about the battle of the bands and Jason, her lying, cheating evil ex-boyfriend. She feels Dylan's warmth and feeds off of it, becoming almost an addiction. He cares to much about her and Phoebe would never admit it, but knowing that scares her.

Her pearly white teeth catch the flesh of her bottom lip and she bites hard. That's when she digs her nails into the soft cotton of her pillow and in one, quick, calculated throw, the pillow smacks into Christina who wakes with a loud groan. The blonde instantly snaps up, hair in total disarray. Her face is cranky, agitated and murderous.

"Phoebe North, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Christina screeches, groggily rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands. The high school junior steals a glance at the baby blue clock on her bedside table and loudly complains, "It isn't even six o'clock yet!"

"Christina…I'm confused."

"I can tell," Christina retorts. "It's Sunday. We don't have school so there's no point in waking me up this freaking early. The show's over. Goodnight and see you when I'm not trying to catch up on beauty sleep."

"You wouldn't be so tired if you weren't up half the night texting Rodge…"

Christina gasps, her eyes snapping open in appall. "How would you know that? Were you reading my text messages again? Phoebe!"

"Not even trying to deny it, _nice_, cheerleader," the brunette grins with interest. She sighs, fingers busily chipping off her black nail polish. "I'll never get why all the girls fall for Rodge. I mean, seriously, this whole new age love-the-boy-that-fucks-you-over thing is getting kinda old."

Christina feels a need to be defensive. "Wasn't that Jason's appeal?"

"No," Phoebe laughs quietly, bitterly. "Despite being a 'self-proclaimed bad boy' and yeah, fucking up everything a lot of the time, it was never his appeal. What got me was always his voice. Despite being a total asshole, Jason knows his music."

"Okay, Phoebe, what's the deal?" Christina asks; her eyes softening and now wide awake. She stretches her arms out, lying flat atop her bed. She presses her elbows against the blue sheets and rests her chin on the backs of her hands. She's staring at Phoebe who in return avoids her stepsister's gaze.

"Nothing," Phoebe chickens out. Christina just lets out a boisterous laugh.

"Oh, Phoebe North, you didn't just wake me up early on a Sunday for nothing. This _is_ something and something's telling me that it's a big, juicy something," Christina grins giddily. "Does this have something to do with Jason?"

Phoebe just scoffs, hugging a nearby pillow. "This has nothing to do with Jason."

"Oh, so it's another guy then…"

"Why do you have to assume that it's a problem involving a guy?" Phoebe asks defensively, nervously drumming her fingers against her knee.

"Because if it were about anything else besides a boy then you'd be waking Dylan up instead of me," Christina smartly replies. Phoebe cocks her head to the side, knowing that the statement made a lot of sense. She never really thought about it. "So, what's up?"

"I'm losing my sanity," Phoebe confesses before burying her face into a pillow.

"I could have told you that," Christina quips playfully despite the sleepy sensation still lingering over her eyelids. The blonde slowly slips out of her bed and migrates to Phoebe's. "Are you gonna tell me? Because waking me up and withholding information is cruel even for you."

"Okay, say someone kissed me and this someone is like…a brother to me. I was totally caught off guard and then afterwards he just gets up and lefts without even saying anything," Phoebe rants, wearing her confusion on her face. "Now things are going to be weird between us and I just broke up with Jason a day ago so I'm seriously not ready to face this. What am I supposed to do?"

"Ew, you kissed William!" Christina nearly shouts; her voice laced with shock. Phoebe instantly clamps her hand over Christina's little mouth. The brunette feels disturbed and disgusted at the very thought of kissing that khaki-loving, uptight wannabe military loser.

"Do you think I'm on drugs? Are you on drugs? How could you possibly jump to that conclusion?" Phoebe hisses, finally removing her hand from Christina's face. Phoebe then stands and began to pace back and forth in front of their open window. "No, he isn't William. Ugh, gross."

"Sorry," Christina sheepishly apologizes. "I got a bit carried away. Now, who is this guy?"

"I'm not telling you," Phoebe says firmly.

"Is it Hunter?" Christina guessed and Phoebe refuses to react. "You know, you two wouldn't be half-bad as a couple. I mean, he's sweet and gentle and not to mention gorgeous. You'd probably have him whipped within seconds, but I don't think he'd have time for you with his epic football career and everything. Still, your children would be so hot."

"Yeah, no," Phoebe replies much to Christina's dismay.

"Is it Rodge?" Christina asks quietly and Phoebe can't help but pickup on the fear in the blonde's tremor of a voice. Phoebe sighs loudly and leans back against the wall, her silence bringing Christina to assume the worst. "Wow, that's real nice, Phoebe, especially after spinning all that crap about his girlfriend and not getting why all the girls fall from him."

"Okay, one, he does have a girlfriend who's a good friend of mine and pretty much the definition of badass so I suggest you forget about him," Phoebe responds heatedly. "Two, no, the mystery guy isn't Rodge. Three, I wasn't spinning crap. I really don't get why you all fall for him."

Christina turns up her nose. "I never said I did."

"This is so pointless," Phoebe huffs irritably, flopping down against her bed. "Just an FYI as someone who really doesn't want to see you get hurt, he may seem sweet and charismatic and appealing and he really is at times, but you also get the Rodge who's arrogant, chauvinistic and a compulsive flirt."

"So then why are you friends with him?"

"I know I should hate Rodge for being an ass, but we've known each other since the eighth grade and we constantly bitch at each other, but surprisingly he has my back and it doesn't hurt that he's a damn amazing musician," Phoebe immediately replies, "and I know how to keep Rodge in check. I don't date him and if you're smart, you won't either."

"Fine," Christina says forcefully though Phoebe isn't sure the blonde's saying it because she really means it or because she wants Phoebe to shut up. "If it isn't Hunter or Rodge, who is it?"

Phoebe refuses to answer; instead choosing to look intently into the distant sky and the rising sun. Christina continues to pester a stubborn Phoebe who refuses each time. They might have grown closer since their parents' marriage, but Phoebe isn't about to spill anything about her and Dylan to a big mouth like Christina Beardsley.

"Whatever. Don't tell me," Christina sighs and runs her fingers through her hair like a jungle of dirty blonde vines. "I really don't know what to tell you, Phoebe, but speaking as someone who doesn't want to see you hurt, you need to talk to this mystery guy. Until then, obsessing over it is just going to eat you up inside."

Phoebe sits still, looking as if she's contemplating the little piece of advice and Christina happily collects all her things needed for an early morning shower. She pushes pass the door and is immediately met by Dylan who's awkwardly standing there, still wearing his pajamas.

Christina's face crinkles with confusion. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Waiting till one of you came out," Dylan replies eagerly, pulling up the sleeves of his long-sleeved gray shirt to his elbows. He crosses his arms over his chest and coolly leans back against the wall of the hallway. "I think I left my guitar in your guys' room."

"One, we aren't guys. Two, get it yourself," Christina orders sharply.

"No! I can't!"

"Why? You have legs, don't you?"

"Because," Dylan says stubbornly, gritting his teeth. In a flash, Phoebe leaves the room and shoves the acoustic guitar into Dylan's arms before walking straight to the stairs. Dylan sighs and sluggishly retreats back to his room, leaving a dumfounded Christina standing there, wondering why Phoebe and Dylan are acting so strange this morning.

Dylan enters his room with his fingers tightly clinging to the neck of his guitar, dragging it behind him. Dropping it carelessly onto his unmade bed, he stretches his tense arms out to the ceiling and then decides to join the rest of the family for breakfast. The morning rush has already begun with plates piled high with food being passed every which way direction.

"Dude, why didn't you tell me?" Jimi questions the moment Dylan slides into his usual seat. Feeling the dark-skinned teen nudge him and chuckle, a wave of pure shock runs down Dylan's backbone. The young musician almost drops the entire pitcher of orange juice he's trying to pour. He looks over at his younger adopted brother with fright. "Dude, Naoko could have taped it…"

"Huh? T−tape? Tape what?" Dylan falters, thinking the worse.

"Hello," Naoko joins in, her voice making the unknown seem like the most obvious thing in the world. "My bedroom is right next to the one Phoebe and Christina share. I could hear you two through the walls."

"What?" Dylan nearly shouts, mouth gaping. He looks down the long table, hoping no one heard the anxiety in his voice. His eye gives a nervous twitch and he can feel the light perspiration coat his forehead. How do they know?

"Dylan, dude, the song sounded awesome. Man, Naoko could have gotten some raw footage before you two get all famous," Jimi says and Dylan lets out a loud sigh of relief. He laughs nervously, finally allowing his shoulders to relax against the back of the chair. "What did you think we were talking about?"

Dylan discretely steals a glance at Phoebe who's now making her way to the front door after hearing Frank holler for her. Completely forgetting about his untouched plate of food, Dylan stands and follows. The situation is a hard one to handle even for someone who writes emotionally charged songs on a daily basis. He doesn't know what to say, but he knows he has to confront her about it.

Nearing the front porch, he takes a look out the window and spots a familiar Corvette.

Shaking his head, all the courage Dylan built up in the last few sleepless hours disappear. He retreats to his beloved basement, suddenly losing his usually healthy appetite. There's this feeling lingering deep within him, one telling him that this is the part of the story where Phoebe and Jason makeup for what seems to be the five millionth time this month. He falls into his favorite chair, pulling an acoustic guitar into his lap.

He strums, eye closed, expression tragic.

_I'm all mixed up, confused  
I don't know what to do  
'Cuz I want to, I'd love to  
If I knew you'd want me to  
If you're getting any closer then I'm gonna have to scream_

_I know what I feel and you feel it too  
I dream of the first kiss and who'll make the first move  
Who's gonna put their heart on the line  
It could be me  
It could be you, tonight_

An hour passes with him singing softly to himself, jotting down lyrics and chords, red ink staining his pale skin. Lyrics and scratched out words run up and down the length and sides of his arm. Dylan finally blinks, his creative energy weakening. He breathes a sigh, feeling as if he's coming down from a high.

"I think you just finished the song," says a female voice from behind. Dylan doesn't even turn to her, knowing who it is. His fingertips are raw and tingling, proof of his suffering for his art. "I just came to get my backpack…"

There's no response and Phoebe doesn't even try to catch his gaze. Being in the same room brings back memories of last night, both good and bad. Phoebe wants neither. Dylan had seriously messed with her head last night and if there's one thing Phoebe absolutely hates, it's feeling helpless. One minute they're best friends and the next he's walking out on her, making her feel so alone and empty.

"What are you still doing here?" Dylan questions and instantly Phoebe picks up on the cold disgust in his voice. "I thought you and Jason would be in his Corvette _catching up_ by now."

He sounds so sure of himself and Phoebe glares. "Is that seriously what you think of me?"

Dylan shrugs carelessly. "I don't know what to think anymore."

"Jason left," she explains, "He wanted a second chance and I told him to get lost. Frank kicked him off the property. That is, after I warned him we were going to kick his ass at the battle of the bands, of course."

There's a long pause and Phoebe turns to the stairs, shrugging, "Just so you know…"

"Pheebs, wait."

Dylan turns to face her, not afraid to show his, well, surprise. A moment ago he was absolutely certain she'd take Jason back especially after what happened last night. He thought she'd jump back into that relationship, something to hide her true feelings behind. She's growing up, certainly more mature than that girl who dated a jerk just so Christina couldn't have him.

Phoebe takes the initiative, walking deeper into the basement and settling down on the couch opposite from Dylan. She simply stares at him out of the corner of her guarded eyes. Dylan nervously twiddles his thumbs, knowing Phoebe isn't going to be the first to bring up last night. He debates on which method to use, eventually deciding to teat it like a Band-Aid.

"Pheebs, I, um, I-I'm sorry…"

Phoebe's surprised and admittedly a bit intrigued. She knows Dylan as this cocky and often overconfident punk. He's always so sure of himself and now, sitting in front of her, he completely embodies the stereotypical tortured artist. He tentatively looks up from his sneakers, his face so torn and tragical.

"Phoebe," he breathes and she's hanging on every word. "I got caught up in the moment, writing that song with you, and it must have been some case of temporary insanity or something because I'd never want to fuck up our friendship − which I did. Let's just forget this ever happened and go back, okay?"

They both know it's impossible so pretending will just have to do.

"Yeah, sure," Phoebe awkwardly agrees after a pause. What is she supposed to say? _No_? Phoebe tries not to bite her bottom lip, knowing it'll tip him off, Dylan who can read her like a book. "…I mean, it was only a kiss, barely even a kiss. It's no big deal, D, really."

"Cool," Dylan nods and again it's awkwardly silent. "Dude, seriously, how off would we be together?"

"Not to mention Frank and mom would freak," Phoebe adds, laughing at her unnecessary worrying over this entire ordeal. "Plus, if you were my boyfriend, you'd be getting rid of this mop on your head."

Phoebe pokes the side of Dylan's head with her index finger.

"Hey, I happen to like my hair and it isn't a mop, thank you very much. The hippie at the barber shop calls it the Beatles cut," Dylan replies defensively. "Heh, if we were dating you'd have to burn your scarf collection and those damn fugly boots of yours."

"Oh gosh," Phoebe scowls, blinking a few times. "You did not just insult my famazing fashion sense with some tacky made up word from Mean Girls!"

"What if I did?" Dylan playfully nudges his shoulder against hers and in turn Phoebe returns the gesture. Everyone thinks Phoebe is uptight and always serious. Dylan knows differently. For one, he knows she's extremely ticklish. He begins to work his fingers against her side, tickling every one of her weak points, Phoebe laugh hysterically.

The two continued to bicker, desperately trying to act normal despite all the words left unsaid.

* * *

**"It Could Be You" © Alexz Johnson**


	6. Manic Depressive Monday

**Temporary Insanity**

**Chapter Six: Manic Depressive Monday **

High school hierarchy is a fascinating thing.

New London may not hold true to the Mean Girl standards, but the movie got one thing right − the existence of high school cliques.

Dylan sloppily throws the strap of his backpack over his shoulder as he makes his way down the hall. He walks at such a leisure pace that people are constantly zooming past him, looking a bit annoyed if not fully pissed off. Dylan pays no attention to these people and takes a look at the quad where most of the upperclassman are segregated like something straight out of a Hollywood coming of age film.

He sees Phoebe with the tortured artists and moody musicians beneath a tree at the far end of the quad and can't help, but smirk. Majority of them are in the school band and basically, you're either a cool band geek who's really into indie and only tolerates band because it's an easy elective or you're really a band geek, the ones who get shoved into lockers.

Further down is where the burnouts and hippies can be found, all sprawled out across the lawn, laughing and sparking up a joint in plain sight. The future leaders of America kids (i.e. William and his American Eagle-clad counterparts) are always in the cafeteria drinking their coffee and discussing current events.

Out by the football field at the very top of the bleachers is a shaded area where the various sports stars, cheerleaders and general "pretty popular people" can be sighted. Christina throws her head back with a laugh at some lame anecdote Rodge is telling all the girls. Hunter is close by, randomly drumming his sticks against a nearby railing.

Being a cheerleader automatically puts Christina in the category and dating majority of the cheerleaders puts Rodge there, but those two can roll with the vapid and the self-absorbed, blending in quite nicely. Despite being a jock, King Jock, nonetheless, Hunter seems bored with his eyes in the distance, mind somewhere else entirely.

Sometimes Dylan doesn't know about Hunter, the gentle giant. He roams the halls, wearing his letterman jacket, always with a couple of his other football teammates as they say vulgar things and make stupid decisions. It's obvious he isn't like them, that he doesn't enjoy being around them. They listen to hip hop, Hunter worships Paul McCartney. They drive supped up racing cars, Hunter's saving up for an old school pickup truck.

Dylan wishes Hunter the best. Of everyone, he's worked the hardest for it.

"Dylan North…"

Dylan curses his unlucky nature when the one girl he didn't want to see smoothly walks over. Cecelia McBride. She's an attractive girl with a slim figure, hot pink streaked, long platinum blonde hair and a pair of bright blue eyes one can simply drown in. Despite being almost physically perfect, Dylan knows the real her and she isn't very pretty at all.

He can remember a single, foggy point in time, freshman year, he thinks, where Dylan genuinely cared about the girl before him. He remembers that sinking feeling, walking around hand-in-hand, laughing about nothing. He remembers being happy until the relationship disintegrated and they silently agreed to never speak or even look at each other again.

"Hey. How're you doing?"

"Hey Cecelia," Dylan greets her politely. He's physically unable to ignore her. Living with Helen, Phoebe, Naoko, Joni and the twins has practically programmed him to treat a girl right. He's watched Phoebe get her heart broken so many times by different jerks and it has taught Dylan that he never wants to be that jerk to some other girl.

"So Fluffy did this sick underground gig in like this abandoned Lower East Side subway station last Friday," Cecelia says and Dylan smiles. It doesn't matter who they are, if they know music and talk music, Dylan will never turn them away.

Dylan smiles gently. "How was it?"

"Ugh, they were _so_ good," Cecelia raves, going weak in the knees just at the memory. "I swear, afterwards we were literally drenched in sweat and I've got these killer bruises on my arms because the crowd was just insane!"

He knows he'll regret it, but he asks anyways. "Who'd you go with?"

"Just Devin, his newest Playboy bunny of a girlfriend and a few of the other guys," Cecelia shrugs nonchalantly. "We asked Brooke, but she flaked out on us as usual. Then Rodge got the text, but something came up with Silver, _again_, as usual, Hunter's still being a bitch over what happened and you, well, you know."

"Yeah," Dylan nods, saving her the trouble of opening unwanted wounds.

"It would have been way more fun with the old gang, um, especially you there," the blonde says with a sort of sad reminiscing glaze to her eyes. Her eyes flee from his and she plays with the multiple bands around her wrist in a nervous manner. "Listen, Dylan, lately I've been thinking a lot about you and what we had together…"

As her words trail off, Cecelia threads her arm through his and keeps tight to his side. He flinches immediately and the determined girl only holds on tighter. His body goes rigid, his mind warning him about the dangers of getting sucked back into the world of Cecelia. However, it still makes him sad, remember what once was.

"We were good together," Dylan agrees, but then he hates himself for giving her hope. "Living like we did, Cec, sure it was fun, but I don't think I can go back to that. None of it was real."

He tugs away and she holds on tighter.

"Dylan, just listen," she begs and he sighs. "I've been out with a few guys since we broke up, but, um, none of them treated me like you did. None of them love the same things I do and make me smile. What happened…it sucks, but it's the past. I did a lot of growing up this year and if you're willing to give me, _us_, a second shot, I think we could make things work."

Dylan truly doesn't know what to say. No? Yes? That's the thing about girls like Cecelia. They have this seductive yet completely innocent look and she's perfected this 'Make Dylan Melt' routine over the years. She knows how to play people, especially guys. With each time she bats her long lashes, Dylan feels himself winding around her finger.

Before Dylan can utter a word, Cecelia takes his hand. She uncoils his fingers and places something in his rough, clammy palm. It's a little black button with a pink bunny stamped on. Scribbles in blue permanent marker are across the front and Dylan audibly gasps.

"Don't think it's some sort of bribe to get you to date me again," Cecelia laughs, tossing straight strands of wheat over her shoulder. Dylan can't stop looking between her and the button in sheer disbelief. "I thought you'd appreciate it more than anyone else."

"Fluffy, they hate publicity. They don't play anywhere mainstream and they definitely don't stick around to do autograph signings afterwards," Dylan chokes out. "How did you?"

"Devin and his mystical powers of persuasion I guess," Cecelia grins, loving the dumbfounded look that has come to replace his face. Before Dylan can form a single coherent thought, Cecelia leans up and kisses him all intense and rough and rather awkward. She's one of those confident kissers. She doesn't care that they're at the entrance to the quad where teachers can see. She knows what she wants and goes for it without regrets.

"You think about that and I'll get back to you…"

With that she walks away, smiling to herself.

Dylan can taste the cherry of her lip gloss and it's all too familiar. Cecelia isn't in band or one of the popular, pretty people. She isn't a future leader of America or a hippie or chronic. She belongs to an exclusive clique Dylan knows all too well. After all, he used to be one of them, along with Rodge, Hunter, Silver and Brooke. They weren't classified by skill or interest. They were simply known as Devin's friends, both hated and respected by association.

It feels so long ago, that late summer day when the once tight clique fell apart. It's a day Dylan has trained his mind to forget. It's a day he now remembers thanks to Cecelia McBride.

"Wow," utters familiar voice. Of all the times, why does she have to show up now? Dylan turns to see Phoebe with her arms crossed over her chest, face already judging him. "Dylan and Cecelia, back together again? There goes my appetite."

"Pheebs, don't…"

"Let me get this straight," Phoebe says, following him back towards the main administration building. "After all the comforting, the talks and the advice you give me about 'finding Mr. Right' and 'ditching Mr. Right Now' you're gonna turn around and not even listen to your own advice? You tried dating her and she broke your heart. You're willing to chance it again?"

"Phoebe, please, just let it go…"

"No," Phoebe stubbornly fights. She grabs onto the sleeve of Dylan's shirt and practically drags him to the band room. No one's in there. Despite the devotion of the school band geeks, lunch comes in a close second in favorite periods. Phoebe slams the door behind them and Dylan just sits on a table, looking rather bored.

"I don't even know if we really are getting back together," Dylan admits.

"Dylan, Cecelia goes through boyfriends faster than hair dye and that's saying a lot considering that I can't even remember her natural color," Phoebe explains spitefully.

"Oh, and I'm supposed to be taking advice from the Queen of Breakups?" Dylan asks defensively. Dylan isn't exactly known for thinking before speaking. He instantly regrets it when he sees Phoebe's glare turn from angry to downright pissed off. "Pheebs, I−"

Before Dylan can blurt out an apology, Phoebe shoves him roughly. Losing his balance, Dylan falls backwards, hitting the ground rather hard.

"I'm only saying this because…" Phoebe practically shouts though her voice dies down towards the end. "I care, okay? D, I don't want you ending up the King of Breakups. You deserve someone nice, someone who respects music and gets you. I'm just warning you…I don't think Cecelia's that girl."

"She's different now," Dylan argues, thinking of the little button in his back pocket, the one that's going on the strap of his guitar the second he gets home. "We like the same music. She respects me. Why are you acting like such a−"

Phoebe scoffs. "Like such a what, Dylan?"

_Like such a jealous girlfriend, Phoebe. _

"Why do you hate Cecelia so much?" Dylan questions, disregarding the way his mind finished the question for him. Phoebe looks absolutely livid and he doesn't know if she's really this passionate about his love life or simply picking a fight for shits and giggles.

"Newsflash, Dylan, the girl broke your heart," Phoebe loudly reminds him, hoping an increase in volume would drill the concrete fact deeper into his head. "Not only did she make you mope around and cry in your bed for a month, but she made all your friends choose sides. If that's respect, then I know nothing at all."

Dylan looks away at the painful memories. "But you don't know, Phoebes, and really, it's so complicated that it isn't worth trying to understand so can we just drop it, please?"

"Fine," Phoebe huffs irritably.

It's quiet with Phoebe standing tall and proud and Dylan on the ground, staring up at her. After a moment of glaring, Phoebe sighs and extends her hand towards him. She pulls him to his feet and the two sit atop one of the desks. She pulls her backpack open and offers him half of her sandwich. Dylan just grins giddily and takes the sandwich, realizing he can now save his for the detention he needs to serve after school.

"You know, we hang out too much," Phoebe suddenly points out. Dylan just laughs, biting into his half of the tuna on rye. "Siblings are supposed to hate each other and not want to be seen in public. We−"

_Kissed_.

"We have separation anxiety when we're apart longer than a week," Phoebe jokes, playfully knocking her shoulders against his.

"Aw, Pheebs, you know you can't help it if you love me so much," Dylan says cockily as she playfully shoves him though it isn't hard enough to actually move him. "Hmm, like how Christina hates when people refer to Harry as her brother. We never had that. We were always best friend."

"I intend on keeping things this way…"

"Me too…"

Phoebe can't help, but feel weird, internally fighting the animalistic urge to kiss him again. They crossed a line the other night and now both of them know it's too late to go back. It's as if her mind's eyes are finally open to the plain and simple truth. She's always seen Dylan as a wannabe rockstar brother type. He's always there for her, comforting her after every little thing, dealing with her when she releases her inner demon. He's simply amazing.

"Um, I've gotta go," Phoebe mumbles and swiftly moves away from Dylan who has his mouth full. "I've got some…homework I forgot to do last night. It's, uh, due next period so I better get going."

"Okay, cool," Dylan nods, also feeling the tension between them. He jumps off the desk and the two make their way to the door, walking side by side. Being the gentleman he is, Dylan pushes the door open and holds it there, allowing Phoebe to exit first. They're out the doors and in the center of the quad when Jerk of the Week makes a grand appearance, smirking dangerously.

Phoebe groans at the sight of a tall boy with an idiotic smirk on his long face. He's fair and lean with a head of dark, unruly hair down to his shoulders. He's scruffy with stubble all across his cheeks and his white wifebeater showcases the tattoos all on his arms and shoulders. His jeans are sagged, exposing the trim of his bright orange boxers. He's the one and only Jason Bobby.

"Hey Phoebe," he whispers, lips separating in a smirk. Phoebe keeps her eyes forward, easily sidestepping the jerk and continuing through the courtyard. Dylan doesn't have the strength Phoebe does. He acknowledges Jason with a glare before following close behind Phoebe.

"Phoebe," he groans. "Babe, don't walk away from me…"

His long fingers latch onto the smooth skin of Phoebe's arm and he yanks her backwards, bringing a small yelp from her throat. Dylan snaps. His fingers curl into a fist and he throws it at Jason, having no idea what he's doing. Everyone in the quad stops to stare.

Dylan North, tortured artist, just out of the blue punches Jason Bobby, self-proclaimed badass.

All the cliques in the New London castle have fallen silent as Jason laughs and touches his lips. He finds blood on his fingertips and his face contorts in a look of complete and utter rage. If there's one person in school not even the macho of all teenage boys dares to mess with, it's Jason. He's the wannabe badass that terrorizes everyone thought to be below him. Three words are uttered before Dylan North's life literally spins out of control.

"You're dead, North."

...

"You know, that was the stupidest mistake you've ever made. You are so lucky Hunter jumped in and broke up the fight when he did or else you'd probably be in a full body cast."

Phoebe sits on the edge of Dylan's messy, unmade bed, staring down at the lifeless form. In reply, he simply groans and leans over the edge of his bed, shifting through a plastic pin of spray paint that he usually keeps hidden beneath his bed. He's searching for the perfect color and Phoebe isn't exactly helpful.

"Some good to know information," Phoebe speaks again, straightening her posture. "Jason and I have this sort of routine. He harasses me, I yell at him and after causing a scene we leave each other alone. If you didn't interfere you wouldn't be like this."

"Well, I'm sorry I don't fit into your routine, Phoebe," Dylan scowls bitterly. He pops off the top of the navy blue spray paint with his thumb. He then begins to spray the plaster that covers him arm, releasing toxic fumes into the air of his already stuffy bedroom.

"I still think you should have gotten the glow in the dark cast…"

"Thanks Phoebe, you're making me feel so much better," Dylan says sarcastically. "How the hell am I supposed to play in the battle of the bands with a broken arm? I can barely move my fingers."

"Dylan," Phoebe sympathetically calls to him, watching the teenage boy pace back and forth, wearing out the wood with every step. When he pays her no attention, Phoebe sighs and her hand finds his shoulder, guiding back to sit beside her on his bed. He looks away in self-pity.

"Dylan, just because your arm is broken doesn't mean you can't compete," she reassures him. "You've got an amazing voice. The twins and me are just going to have to step it up without your guitar skills."

"We're so screwed," Dylan utters with a sigh, running his free hand through his hair. As silence settles in, Dylan glances towards Phoebe who's impatiently twirling her permanent marker between her fingers.

"I'll sign your cast," Phoebe suggests, holding up the silver sharpie. She starts to write and Dylan continues to wallow in sheer humiliation, still unable to believe that he let a guy like Jason Bobby make him look like a chump in front of the whole high school hierarchy. If getting the crap kicked out of him wasn't bad enough, Dylan spent a whole ten minutes on the ground, clutching his arm in pain and had to be rushed off to the hospital, ambulance and all.

Phoebe's smile is bright as she slowly slips the cap back onto the permanent marker. Dylan looks down out of curiosity and fails at hiding his smile. "Thank you" is written in her signature, all girly and curvy, a smiley face and her name finishing off the little message.

"Hmm, it may not be van Gogh," he muses, "but it's still cool, Pheebs."

"I really mean it," Phoebe says, her lips curling apologetically. "…thank you, D. It was really sweet of you to defend me like that, but seriously stupid and unnecessary too."

"And don't forget the whole school thinks I'm a skinny wimp for getting thrown around like some stupid punching bag," Dylan sighs miserably, running his fingers through his hair. Phoebe can't help but feel guilty, being the reason for his pain. She hates seeing him like this and digs through her back pocket, producing a small bottle of pills his doctor prescribed to help with the pain. Helen had just picked them up from the pharmacy though Dylan hasn't taken any at all.

"Dyl, aren't you gonna take one? It's supposed to help ease the pain."

"No can do," Dylan rejects the idea, shaking his head. "I'm good."

"Dylan…"

"Seriously, Pheebs, those things and me don't get along too well," Dylan says vaguely, hoping she won't press the subject. "We have a history."

"What are you talking about?"

Dylan remembers how she wasn't home when it happened. That's why she'd suggest what no one else in the house would dare to even think. If his doctor hadn't suggested the pills and written up a prescription, Helen would never have even brought those things into the household.

"They're effective, but addictive," Dylan nervously explains. "I was, um, going through something while you were at that NYC college tour thing and Devin would give me a handful of these a day, saying it'd help me deal with everything. I don't know where the hell he got them, but they took everything away to the point where I couldn't feel anymore."

"What happened?" Phoebe urgently asks. "Mom caught you, didn't she?"

"I, um, ODed and Hunter found me passed out in the basement one night," Dylan corrects. "Hunt and mom rushed me to the hospital where I spent a couple days. That's why I haven't been driving lately and I haven't left the lighthouse besides school. It's, um, also why Devin and I aren't friends anymore."

"You never told me this," Phoebe mumbles, slightly shocked and confused. "We're supposed to be best friends, Dylan. Why'd you wait so long to tell me about something as serious as this?"

"I−I didn't want you to worry." He refuses to look at her. It's partly true, but not the whole truth. "You would have just rushed home and for nothing. Mom was super disappointed. The other kids were all too scared to even talk to me. I broke up the gang."

"Dylan−"

"It's true," he insists. "Mom said it was a bad idea to keep hanging out with Devin and I agreed. Hunt and Silver were super pissed at Devin. Rodge was on the fence about it all and Brooke, being his sister, defended him. Cecelia defended him too, said that it was _me_. I let my addiction consume me and we broke up. This huge stupid fight broke out and now…we all barely talk because of me."

He looks up from his cast and his brown eyes connect with hers. Both are caught in a steady breathless gaze. Phoebe North claims to know Dylan North. She can recite to you his favorite color, the model of his first guitar, the band that played at the first concert he went to, his likes and dislikes. She even claims to understand him; however, until that moment when she loses herself in his fragile eyes she never truly understood him.

Dylan tries to get the words out, but his throat feels raw after all the venting. Thoughts of being abandoned by his biological parents, being taken in by the Norths, falling in love with each and every one of those North kids, losing Cecelia, losing his friends, falling for Phoebe; it all caves down on him, a simple boy with a twisted past and probably an even more twisted future. He can feel his eyes tear and all his pride crumble down to nothing.

"Pheebs…Phoebe, _please_ don't think I'm a mistake…"

"What are you talking about?" Phoebe practically demands with a gasp.

"My own parents didn't want me," Dylan says quietly. He has always brushed off his childhood of growing up in an orphanage like it was nothing. Now, finally, the truth is surfacing. "Even after your parents took me in, I still have to be this troubled kid with my obsession with graffiti, hanging with the wrong crowd, breaking curfew, doing anything to get that stupid adrenalin rush. No matter how hard I try, my life is just one fucking mistake after another."

Dylan looks away, but suddenly he feels her arms tightly encircling his neck as if physically trying to keep him from falling to pieces. He feels her fingernails dig into the material of his t-shirt and he wraps his unharmed arm around her lower back, clinging to her with the same intensity. After a lingering moment, Dylan feels her pull back and he's scared shitless. He doesn't want her to abandon him, not here, not now.

In this precise moment, she's so close to him, staring straight into his eyes. He can feel his heart speed up in a way that Cecelia once did, a way that Phoebe does now. With every second he feels himself losing grip on his emotions, losing control. It's the way she looks at him. It makes him forget who he is and who she is. It makes him feel like just a boy and her just a girl, both caught up in a temporary loss of sanity.

Her hand comes up to graze the side of his face and he can see the uncertainty in her eyes. He feels the tremor of her fingertips and makes it easy for her. He leans in and easily presses his mouth her hers. Even more surprising than his sudden courage, she returns the kiss, her lips moving fervently against hers. She's careful in her movement, trying to avoid his cast, not wanting to cause him any more unnecessary pain.

This kiss is different. The first time had sent a shockwave through both of them, like being struck by lightning. Now they're both hyperaware of what's happening, both panting and touching and tugging. For an eighth of a second, Phoebe feels like maybe, maybe this time she won't get hurt. For the first time in his entire life, Dylan feels like he can do no wrong, like he's wanted.

"Dylan, we can't," she finally groans against his lips, breaking his heart along with their lips.

The world comes back into focus, leaving both with swelling lips and racing hearts. Phoebe curls away from him, being broken from Dylan's spell by the sound of a car in the distance. She doesn't question what happened. It takes everything within her to ignore the dizzy sensation she feels at his touch.

Dylan sighs, a bit irritated and leans back against the wall behind his bed. Without a word, Phoebe leans back beside him, fear jolting through her when she feels his fingers running across her knuckles and his eyes burning into her. Both want to say something, but no words are exchanged.

"Phoebe," he says, so serious it frightens her. "I'm not Jason. You know I'll never hurt you…"

Phoebe bites her bottom lip and feels her eyes mist over at the sincerity in his voice. Before she has time to even think of an explanation, the door bursts open. Phoebe jumps a foot away, practically falling off the bedside. Dylan straightens at the sight of William Beardsley, grinning like a fool. Immediately, Dylan's annoyed.

"Guys, guess what?" William asks, clutching a thick envelope in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. Dylan feels a sarcastic retort on his lips, but William doesn't have the patience to hear it. "I got accepted into Harvard!"

"Wow, William, that's awesome!" Phoebe screeches with glee. She instantly wraps her arms around his neck in a tight embrace and the oldest Beardsley son twirls his stepsister in an excited little circle. Dylan refuses to share in their happiness and simply folds his arms, looking away. He's almost certain that isn't a way you're supposed to hug your brother or even stepbrother for that matter.

"Congrats Willy, with you going off to college I'll have the whole room to myself," Dylan spits venomously. He tries to say it jokingly, but it comes out bitter and angry, wiping the smile clear off William's handsome face.

"Ouch, Jason gotcha good, didn't he?" William questions innocently and Dylan responds with a groan, yanking a blanket clear over his head. William simply shrugs his shoulders and Phoebe guiltily stares off across the room.

"Not bad Beardsley," Phoebe says, turning so her back is to a sulking Dylan. "With a full ride to your first choice college, your future sounds set."

"Don't worry, Phoebe," William assures her, smiling. "I applied early so of course I got my letter. I'm sure that NYU acceptance letter will be coming in the mail any day now."

Phoebe nods and hears Frank calling them all to dinner.

"We better get downstairs," William suggests and Phoebe agrees with a small nod. She starts walking towards the door, but William stops and looks over to Dylan's immobile form. "Dylan, are you coming?"

No answer.

"Okay then," William says awkwardly, feeling the tension in the room and not understanding it. With another shrug, he walks out without even a glance back. Phoebe lingers at the door for a second; staring with apologetic eyes he can't see. She walks out, but unlike William, she steals a glance.

Once he's sure he's alone, Dylan throws his blanket off and kicks his sneakers to the ground. He tosses and turns in his bed, desperately searching for a comfortable position.

For the first time, it registers with him that Phoebe's going to be going to college in the fall and he has another year of high school to complete. He knows in his heart that she'll be going to NYU. The city was their home before the car accident that took their father's life, before Helen make the big decision to move back to her hometown. Phoebe's always talked about moving back to the city and starting her own life and she'll do it − without him.

Dylan's eyes land on a little orange bottle of pills that are looking even more tempting with each passing second.


	7. We're All Broken

**Temporary Insanity **

**Chapter Seven: We're All Broken**

"Dylan…Dylan…"

He hears his name, but his mind is foggy and only darkness surrounds him. He never went down for dinner last night. All he remembers is sitting in his room, surrounded by emptiness and his thoughts. All night he hearts feet bitter patter against the hardwood halls, pacing in front of his door, but no one makes a move inside. When he hears the doorknob twist, he shuts his eyes. The last thing he needs is people.

"Dylan…Dylan!"

"Damn it, what the fuck do you want?" Dylan shouts irritably. With a glare, he shoots up in bed, grouchy as hell. He suddenly regrets his thrashing, feeling a dull throbbing in his arm. It seems the one pill he took before bed had no healing affect whatsoever. He took it purely to help with the pain of his arm, his head and his heart to no avail.

"Jeez, I just thought you'd like to know that school starts in twenty minutes," William informs him. Dylan just groans and melts back in bed. What gives William Beardsley the right to wake him up for something as trivial as school? Dylan's convinced he'll never know. "If it isn't too inconvenient, could you get ready _now_? I can't be late for school."

"I'm not going," Dylan says with great certainty, covering his eyes with his arm that isn't covered in plaster. He doesn't care that he sounds like a five-year-old. All he wants is for William to go away.

"Are you sick?"

"It's called getting into a fight and getting suspended," Dylan scowls, hating how inconvenient it is to have to explain himself. "Apparently it's against their beloved handbook or some shit. Two days suspension which is fine by me seeing as I need a mental health day anyways."

"You keep this up and you'll never graduate."

"Go fuck yourself, William."

Dylan knows William's aggravated and it's kinda twisted how he gets some sense of sick satisfaction out of pushing Beardsley's buttons. Soon after silence settles in, Dylan hears retreating footsteps though the intensity of the pain is keeping him from celebrating his win against William. Suddenly the door creaks and Dylan doesn't even move. He hears heels clacking and if he remembers correctly, William doesn't wear them.

"Phoebe, go the hell away," he cries in sheer irritation, pulling his sheets tighter around his body. "I'm tired, pissed and in pain right now so please respect that and get lost."

"Dylan Tiberius North, you know better than to talk to your sister that way."

"Do you always talk to your sister like that?" Helen asks and Dylan cringes beneath his covers. "There's no wonder why she's been acting so strange and…jumpy all morning. Did something happen between you two? Please don't tell me you two are at it _again_..."

There's silence until Dylan hears the jingle of pills jumping in a vial. He cracks an eye to see his mother eyeing the label on the bottle before her pained and suspicious eyes shoot across the room to her teenage son.

"I thought I took these away from you?"

"Phoebe got them from your purse. I swear I didn't know," Dylan assures her, putting his free hand up in a defensive manner. "She didn't know about…what happened and she thought it would help me. To tell you the truth, I took one and it hasn't helped at all."

"You really did well, you know?" Helen asks softly, sitting on the edge of his bed and combing Dylan's bangs out of his eyes. Ever since she stopped cutting Dylan's hair when he was in middle school it's gotten longer and is unruly as ever. "I'm proud of you for sticking up for your sister even if the results weren't in your favor."

"Mom…"

"I'm not mad about the suspension. You just make sure you get your work done when you go back. As for today, I want you to unwind and try to get some rest," Helen orders and Dylan smiles at how laidback his mom is. She presses a kiss to his forehead and stands, taking the pills with her. "I have a meeting with a client so I'll be in the city for the day and Mrs. Munion has the day off. You'll be okay home alone, right?"

"Ma, I'm seventeen. I think I can manage," Dylan quickly replies. "Have a good day."

"Thanks, honey, you try and get some rest, okay?" Helen calls with one of her original purses on her shoulder, heading out the door. "Bye son!"

"Bye Mom!"

After hearing his mom's car pull out and begin the long trek down the hill, Dylan strolls over to the window, stretching his long arms. He doesn't even bother looking outside to see all the kids board the school bus. He simply pulls the strings, bringing the blinds to fall and envelope his entire room in darkness.

He feels the tension leave his tired eyelids and crawls back into bed. Some would call this moping. Dylan would rather refer to it as hanging out and thinking intensely. He manages to catch another hour of sleep, but twists the wrong way and groans aloud in pain. He knows things won't get any better and gives up, heading downstairs for breakfast.

Dylan strolls through the empty house in a gray t-shirt and baggy, plaid pajama pants. He doesn't bother to shower or brush his teeth for he's experiencing a rare moment and would like to enjoy as long as possible. There's complete silence in the lighthouse. Don't get him wrong, Dylan loves chaos, but that doesn't mean he can't appreciates some quiet time alone.

Dylan already has a game plan as he enters the kitchen, grabbing a giant mixing bowl from the cabinet and filling it to the top with cereal. He considers the man who mixed sugar coated pieces with mini-marshmallows and called it breakfast a genius. He grabs a full carton of milk from the refrigerator, a large spoon and advances into the living room.

The cartoons are crap considering it is mid-morning and a weekday when everyone's supposed to be in school. Lately Frank has been complaining about how tasteless television is today and canceled half of the good channels, refusing to pay for what he dubs "garbage". That leaves Dylan with basic cable and a hot girl with a tragic expression catches his eye.

An hour later he realizes it's a marathon and Mr. Cool Musician Dylan North finds himself addicted to something else entirely. He can't seem to tear his eyes away from the television. The acting is horrible and the storyline is pretty clique, but the actresses are gorgeous and beach scenes are featured every ten minutes.

Right as the cynical young boy dares the once reserved girl to jump into the filthy river on their escapade to Bangkok, the Beatle's 'Hey Jude' fills the air. He's startled at first, but finally notices his cell phone vibrating against the wooden coffee table. Dylan curses, realizing he's spent hours sitting on the couch watching some stupid television show.

He effortlessly flips his phone open. "What?"

"Hey baby, I'm _so_ lonely. I'm right outside your front door and _so_ horny…"

Dylan can't help but smirk at the seductive and familiar female voice. "Does your boy toy know you're making really entertaining yet really desperate booty calls, Silver?"

"I was just trying out my Cecelia McBitch impersonation," she sharply replies. "You like it?"

"I think you should stay behind the camera and leave the acting to people who can actually act," Dylan says smoothly, hearing her grumble angrily from the other end. He smirks, it bringing him happiness to know she's irritated.

"Just open the damn door, North Pole."

"Are you seriously here?" he asks, eyebrows askew, easily showing his confusion. He hears her giggle from the other end of the phone, such a beautiful and musical sound. Dylan doesn't expect anything less. After all, music runs in her blood. "I thought you were kidding."

"Seriously, I'm Silver. Would I really waste a phone call on a joke?" she presses on.

"Basement door, spare key under the mat," Dylan explains immediately. Frank had laughed when Helen had put the key there; however, the North kids were always misplacing their things including house keys. Apparently, the spare key is also used when people in the house are too lazy or too busy to answer the door.

"You're such a lazy ass, Dylan North," a voice teases a few minutes later. Suddenly Dylan feels arms around his shoulders, hugging him from behind. Dylan tilts his head back and smiles at the one girl he firmly believes he'll always have a platonic relationship with. After all, she is his best friend's girlfriend.

Claire "Silver" Silverberg is a goddess with her thin figure, those high cheekbones and cerulean orbs for eyes that peek up at you through long, mascara-laced lashes. Her hair is as dark as a raven's feathers and her skin not golden bronze, but not as pale as the moon, a happy medium. Her family owns the coveted Electric Lady Studios, a company Dylan hopes to record with one day.

Silver − who's called Silver mostly because of the twisted satisfaction she gets from pissing off her divorcee mother at any reference to her father− is literally the girl all the bad guys want. She runs a music blog sponsored by Electric Lady Studios and is extremely popular in the indie music circuit. Silver takes her blog seriously and is yet to do an exposé on Dylan's band, saying they need to get their crap together before she'd even consider it.

"Ooh," Dylan grins, "the naughty school girl costume. I like."

"Keep it in your pants, pervert, it's my uniform," Silver spits and drops down onto the couch beside him, shrugging off a maroon blazer. She's wearing a rather fitted button down shirt with a golden patch in the shape of a shield over her heart, a lose maroon tie, a pleated black skirt down to her knees and mid-calf socks with a pair of classic black and white converse.

"Hey!" a familiar voice calls from behind. "Quit hitting on my girlfriend, North."

Dylan turns to see the twins waltzing in, Rodge who's wearing a pair of ridiculous neon sunglasses with reflector lenses and Hunter in his letterman jacket. Dylan isn't sure which he's more interested in, the pizza box Rodge is carrying or the acoustic guitar slung across Hunter's back. Despite being friends for years, he's never heard Hunter play guitar.

"I was not hitting on her. She was propositioning herself to me," Dylan defends himself only to receive a painful smack across the back of his head. "Silver, hello, I'm the guy with the cast!"

"Really?" Silver scowls, "because all I see is a jackass with a big mouth."

"That's my girl," Rodge sings sweetly and sits beside Silver, slinging his arm over her shoulders. The two share an affectionate gaze before he leans in and lightly pecks the corner of her mouth.

"So bipolar," Hunter says, shaking his head, looking at his brother and his brother's girlfriend as if they were strange creatures at the zoo. "Seriously, D, not even fifteen minutes ago they were full on arguing about pizza toppings and now they're in love again."

"Speaking of pizza," Dylan mumbles, licking his lips. "Tell me it's a Bliss Bakery pizza."

Silver shoots him a look. "Duh and uhhh who said you're getting any?"

"Yeah man," Rodge continues, "We just needed a place to eat it, not share."

Dylan narrows his eyes, crosses his arms and stops. "You bitches."

"Quit being a baby," Hunter groans, settling into a chair and flips open the top of the pizza box. "We got spinach mushroom for the vegetarian with the broken arm and sausage, pepperoni, bell peppers for the sane people."

"Pedro down at Bliss is thinking of calling it the North pizza because only you and your little army of vegetarians order it," Rodge adds with a slight smile, pulling himself a piece. "Seriously, dude, how does your family not eat meat? The thought is, well, scary."

"We're vegetarians," Drake replies, shrugging. "It's how we were raised and I think that's how we'll always be." He leans forward and retrieves his slice of pizza oozing with three different cheeses all melted together, vegetables sliding all over.

Silver gasps and everyone turns to her. "Is this the episode where the boyfriend finds out that the chick and the jerk guy totally made out on that train to New York City?"

"No," Dylan replies with his mouth full, eyes on the television screen. "It's the one where the chick and the hot girl talk about the boyfriend and the hot girl has that awesome 'I'm sick of coming second with people I put first' line."

"Damn, the writer's good," Silver admits, not usually the type to buy into cheesy, addictive television series. The Montgomery twins look to their lead singer and then the girl in the Catholic school getup. Two are completely absorbed and the other two quizzical.

"D, what the fuck is this?"

"Some show," Dylan quickly replies between chewing. His answer only seems to heighten their curiosity and confusion. Dylan sighs, already able to read their expressions. "There was nothing else on. It's either this or some sports network shit."

Silver chuckles, "Aw, D, I think you just might have hurt Jock Boy's feelings."

"Don't try to change the topic, Chicken Legs," Hunter retorts, shooting Silver a playful smirk, to which she childishly sticks out her tongue and he laughs heartily. "Dylan, why exactly are you watching teen soaps?"

"Teen drama, thank you very much," Silver quickly corrects. "I don't watch soaps."

"Same difference, sweetheart," Rodge chuckles and Silver shoves him away with a look of annoyance. Seeing this as a challenge, Rodge presses a sloppy kiss to her neck and Silver slaps him away, giggling.

"No, man, it's kinda interesting," Dylan admits thoughtlessly. "It's about this kinda self-conscious obsessively thinking chick from the city that moves down to Jersey to go to some rich kid school after her little brother died. As hard as she tries not to get sucked into this crowd she knows is totally wrong for her…she can't help it."

"She's an annoying, whiny bitch, but we can all sort of relate, you know," Silver says softly and the three boys acknowledge the rocky past they share. A commercial plays across the screen and the dark-haired girl turns to Dylan, watching him cautiously. "So how are you, D?"

"Besides getting my ass kicked−" Dylan turns to Hunter for a moment, acknowledging him with a nod, "­−thanks for jumping in, by the way." Hunter simply nods, cradling his acoustic guitar. "I'm fine, Silver."

She laughs that magical laugh and playfully ruffles his hair. "You know better than to lie to me. I can see it written all over your face, Dylan. You look like shit."

Dylan chuckles bitterly. "Thanks."

"Word on the street is that sweet little Cecilia wants our little John Lennon wannabe back," Rodge mentions, pursing his lips. Silver looks like she wants to smack someone for not sharing this sooner and Hunter who's been playing a soft, familiar tune, hits a sour note.

"Word on the street?" Dylan scoffs. "What street?"

"Heh, Rodge has been hanging out with Devin and everyone again," Hunter mumbles quietly and Rodge's entire body goes rigid. Both Dylan and Silver look over at the dark-haired bassist with looks of disbelief. Dylan's face goes completely blank and Silver shakes with anger.

"Thanks Hunt," Rodge groans, nervously gritting his teeth.

The likable jock looks around in confusion. "I thought it was common knowledge…"

"No," Silver says coldly. "He didn't even bother to tell his _girlfriend_."

"It was a game of pool and a few drinks at some jock's victory party," Rodge explains nonchalantly, wolfing down a slice of pizza. "C'mon, don't make this some big thing."

"So you went to a Devin party and you didn't even think to mention it to me?" Silver continues; the fury evident in her eyes. Hunter continues to fiddle with his guitar and Dylan stares at the television set, both mastering the art of zoning out during one of Silver and Rodge's countless fights.

Rodge grits his teeth. "Can we not talk about this now in front of our friends?"

"Oh God, if Dylan and Hunter don't know we fight by now then they have no business calling themselves our friends," Silver easily retorts, mastering the art of arguing. "Why are you being so evasive?"

"Why are you being so suffocating?" Rodge asks and she's ready to chastise him for answering a question with a question, not to mention proving her point. "Don't you trust me?"

The question catches the attention of everyone in the room and eyes dart between the quarreling couple. Dylan feels stupid for getting so involved in a stupid television show when he has a little soap opera playing out right in front of his eyes.

"Wow. It's good to know how you really feel, Silver," Rodge says moodily when his question is answered with silence and her bright blue eyes boring into him. He grunts, partly because he's disgusted and partly because he's hurt. Rodge grabs his keys off the table, heading for the door.

"So that's it? God, Rodge, can we ever have a conversation where you don't fucking walk out when we're starting to talk about things that actually matter?" Silver yells, completely forgetting about Dylan and Hunter being in the room. She's quick to her feet, chasing after her fuming boyfriend. When Rodge doesn't respond, Silver grabs his shoulder and he snaps.

Rodge takes her wrist in his hand and shoves her hard until her back hits the hallway wall. He slams her hard enough to rattle the picture frames on the wall, bringing one to hit the ground and shatter. Dylan and Hunter instantly rush over, ready to step in if Rodge gets violent. The look in his eyes is deadly, but Silver's too strong and too stubborn to back down.

"Don't you ever touch me like that again," Rodge whispers harshly.

"Let her go," Hunter demands, his voice so cold and hard. Rodge refuses to oblige and Hunter grows angry, fingers curly tightly into fists ready to strike. "You may be my brother, but if you hurt her, I swear to God, Rodge, I will kick your ass."

Rodge doesn't let go. If anything his grip tightens and Silver visibly grits her teeth in an attempt to ignore the pain of his fingers digging into her skin. Furious, Hunter steps in and Dylan stays to the side, frozen, unable to understand how things had gotten so bad in such a short amount of time.

Today is a horrible day. It's the day Dylan realizes he isn't the only one broken.


	8. Self Pity Party, Population You and Me

**Temporary Insanity**

**Chapter Eight: Self-pity Party, Population You and Me**

Silver Silverberg stands on the front porch of the old lighthouse she, as a young girl, once believed to be haunted. It was a popular spot for mischievous children, New London not being a very lively or eventful town. She had her first kiss in that lighthouse and now she's just had her heart broken for the first time in the very same spot.

The redness has faded from her skin, leaving no bruise or sign of struggle. She simply folds her arms over her chest as she watches her boyfriend zoom down the hill in his Jeep, the loud roar of the engine reflecting both his and her mood. Once he's completely gone, Silver ventures back into the lighthouse, into the waiting arms of Dylan North.

Silver remembers the first time she met Dylan North and his family the summer after seventh grade when his rather numerous and diverse siblings moved into old lady Brown's house and gave it a bubblegum pink makeover. He moved in right next door to Brooke Ferris, Silver's once best friend and William's once girlfriend.

She's always found his house comforting despite all the chaos and mayhem, it was always a lot more fun and warm than the mansion she shares with her mother that's twice the size and usually completely empty besides the butler and maid who offer her kind words, clean clothes and gourmet food, but have their own families to go home to. The North family welcomed her with open arms. It's really something she's been missing.

Silver pulls back from the hug with Dylan and she doesn't cry, her mystical eyes refusing to show even one sign of tears. Instead, her cerulean orbs shift to Hunter Montgomery who's standing by the window with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed, staring out the window at the spot where his brother once parked.

"Are you okay?" Hunter asks a moment later. Silver manages a small nod and looks at the mess on the ground. Broken glass is everywhere from the framed photograph that fell when Rodge shoved Silver against the wall. A lamp is on the ground (but thankfully not broken) from where Hunter forcefully pushed Rodge away, acting as a shield for Silver.

Angry words were exchanged, blood was not shed and Rodge left.

"Damn it, Dylan," Silver mumbles apologetically. "I− I'm−"

"Don't worry about it. It's not your fault Rodge is an idiot," the lead singer says quickly, knowing how she hates apologies. Still, Silver goes to the back closet and finds a broom and dustpan, wordlessly cleaning up the mess.

"It's sad that I don't even know if that was a breakup or just another fight," Silver says miserably, sweeping up every last shard of glass. "God, guys, I can't believe I let things get so out of control."

"Welcome to my self-pity party, population you and me," Dylan mumbles sullenly. "Why didn't you just tell him that you trust him?"

"Because I don't," Silver replies, the honesty evident in her fragile voice.

_And you have good reason not to_, Dylan thinks, but never says. That's the one issue that always seems to rear its ugly head when it comes to his two good friends becoming a couple. Dylan doesn't like when they fight (which they do several times a day) because it puts him in an awkward position and he hates being torn between two people he cares about.

"Ever since I ditched New London and started at St. Joseph, Rodge has been so…distant. He doesn't seem to get that my life doesn't revolve around him. Get this, I tell him I got into Yale and he has a fit like a frickin' little girl," Silver explains with a pensive facial expression.

Dylan's ready to comment in the defense of his bassist, but then he freezes, needing a moment to rethink what he's just heard. Hunter seems to go through the same process with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips a moment later.

"That's fucking amazing," Dylan praises her. "You so need to buy me a sweater."

"Getting in doesn't mean that's where I'm going," Silver reminds the two boys, her voice echoing through the halls as she goes to dispose of the broken glass and return the broom and dustpan. "So what's this about you and Cecilia getting back together?"

"Um, we just…had a good talk yesterday," Dylan says vaguely, thinking of the Where's Fluffy? pin on his desk upstairs. "Ha, for a while there I missed the old _me_, the old _us_."

"Dead and gone, Dylan," Silver tells him, shaking her head. "Hanging out with Devin, the parties, stumbling drunk, graffiti runs at two in the morning and moshing at concerts, they were all fun as hell, sure, but we were wasting our lives wasted. Seriously, we're lucky we opted out when we did. Life may not necessarily be better, but it's right."

"She's right, man," Hunter agrees. "I'm going to college…somewhere. Silver got into Yale. Rodge is sober…most of the time. Cecelia, I love the girl, but she's stuck in that lifestyle and even worse, she's fine with it."

"Sometimes though," Dylan muses aloud, "doesn't it feel like we've settled for, well, boring?"

"I like to think we've settled for stable," Silver contradicts and Dylan readily nods, wishing he's as strong as she is. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it because I do, but honestly, we're too good to turn into townie pimps and whores."

Hunter huskily whispering, "Say it again."

Silver grins audaciously. "Townie pimps and whores."

Dylan smiles despite the insult, glancing from Silver who's picking up the fallen picture and Hunter who's moved from watching the window like a guard god to lounging around with that guitar Dylan's yet to be introduced to. Dylan's surprised at how content he is. There's something about Hunter and Silver that's so easy to be around. It's also reassuring how loyal they are to him, choosing Dylan over Devin.

"Hunt, I didn't know you own a guitar…"

"Now you do," Hunter replies, running his fingers down the neck of the rather old Epiphone.

"Play something, Jock Strap," Silver commands while leaning towards Dylan with a permanent marker. Hunter smiles and presses his fingers firmly over the strings, against the mahogany fret board. He strums a few times and Dylan and Silver share a laugh, easily identifying the addictive music that accompanies a game of Tetris. Hunter then changes the tempo, quietly singing:

_Now I'm speechless over the edge, I'm just breathless  
I never thought that I'd catch this love bug again  
Hopeless, head over heels in the moment  
I never thought that I'd get hit by this love bug again_

"Oh God," Silver groans, feigning irritation despite how entertained she is deep down. "Hunter Montgomery, did you seriously look up tabs to a Jonas Brother's song?"

"No," he replies defensively though Dylan and Silver refuse to buy it. "The walls at my apartment building are crazy thin and this creepy thirty-year-old chick next door plays it on repeat. The song's so fucking catchy and the chords are so easy. Damn, I want to shoot myself."

"On a lighter note, your pipes aren't bad," Dylan compliments him.

"Great, now I'm the only one in the old gang that can't sing for shit," Silver grumbles, picking at the chipping black paint of her fingernails. Hunter opens his mouth to remind her that his twin can't sing to save his life, but decides against it, not wanting to damper the lighthearted mood in the room.

Dylan laughs, "What else yah got, Hunt?"

"Ha, here's one for you and Cecelia," Hunter dedicates before strumming harshly.

_When you see my face  
Hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell  
When you walk my way  
Hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell_

Dylan's eyes narrow into angry slits. "Don't you two have somewhere to be?"

"Not till five," Hunter grins his charming, Greek god grin that can make anyone − men and woman alike − simply melt. He jumps out of his seat and squishes in between Dylan and Silver, easily taking the marker from Silver and attacking the plaster on Dylan's arm.

"What about you?" Dylan asks, eyeing Silver. "Still the same, huh?"

"No. Well, sorta, but I quit the whole ditching class thing. You see, one really cool thing about this whole Catholic school gig is that we get out at twelve on Tuesdays, but we have mass every Friday morning so we stay till three," Silver explains casually. "I realized I haven't seen my boyfriend for a week now and we decided to have lunch and that blew up in our faces."

"Forget Rodge," Dylan advises, rolling his eyes. "How've _you_ been?"

"I've got a new project actually," Silver mentions and pulls out a sleek, black camcorder from her purse. She flips the screen open and points the little device at Dylan. "It's for my sister and her counseling center, a sort of short documentary on different people's definitions of love." she's sure to throw air quotes around the word.

"Hmm," Dylan hums with interest, "not your usual stuff. I'm so used to your music or gossip."

"Yeah, actually putting this together is all really barf-inducing but I owed Jen a favor," Silver rolls her eyes and then hits the record button on her camera. "So Mr. North, New London High's resident Heartthrob, what's love?"

Dylan laughs and stares down at his hands. "I−I don't know."

Silver's posh lips twist into a frown. "Damn it, Dylan. I'm gonna need more than that."

"You know, I've never really thought it through," Dylan goes on, coyly crossing his arms. "I've always looked at my parents and thought to myself, wow, they're _so_ in love. That's what I want."

Dylan's expression darkens and Silver throws Hunter a look and the star athlete mimics her worry. "Then he, um, passed away and she fell in love with a new guy. Don't get me wrong. Frank's a good guy and he makes her happy, but it's so damn confusing. Like, how can you be so in love with one person and then do it all over again with a different person? If love's this amazing, special thing then how can it happen multiple times with multiple people?"

They hear the clunking of a car and the three teenagers shoot up in their seats. Dylan isn't exactly supposed to have company, being suspended and all. Quickly, Hunter and Silver gather their things, heading down to the basement and out the backdoor.

"Hey Silver, you think you could drop me off at school?" Hunter asks, nervously wringing his fingers. "Unless, you know, you want to stay for the football game."

"Having to sit in a crowd of nameless faces as they cheer like mindless zombies? Yeah, I'd rather gorge my eyes out with a spoon," Silver replies, looking as if the very suggestion is appalling. "Plus Rodge is probably going to be there and he's the last person I want to see right now."

Hunter frowns. "What about me?"

She scowls. "What about you? You've got at least a hundred personal cheerleaders, not to mention some actual cheerleaders all there to chant your name and all that other nonsense."

"Yeah, but none of them are Silver Silverberg."

"Damn right they're not," she smiles proudly and hates the little pang of guilt she feels when she notices Hunter frowning out of the corner of her eye. Silver sighs, "I can't, Hunt, but I promise I'll go to your first college game even if it means taking a plane to Hicksville."

"And she'll wear your school colors," Dylan adds.

"I'm already giving him a ride to hell," Silver argues, shooting Dylan a look that clearly warns him to stay out of this. "Wearing another school's colors? Now that's crossing some lines."

"Sorry, Hunt, I tried," Dylan shrugs innocently and Hunter shakes it off, pushing out of the basement and to the side of the house. "Oh, and S, I'm sorry if I wasn't much help with your video thing. I was serious when I said I don't know."

"Believe me, North, trolling through the mall I've gotten worse on tape," Silver smiles, unlocking a silver Mercedes with a click. She throws her arms around his neck in a hug and whispers softly, "Say hi to Phoebe for me, okay?"

"Don't I always?" Dylan smirks after giving her waist a tight squeeze and pulling back. "Hey, lend me a copy when you're done with your documentary. I'm sure Naoko would love to see it. The girl practically idolizes you."

"No problem," Silver smiles. "I miss hanging out, D."

"Haha, same here, S."

"What the fuck is this? Last I checked we don't live in the Upper East Side," Hunter teases playfully just to get socked in the arm by an easily irritable girl with a famous last name. Hunter flaunts a lopsided grin and Silver rolls her eyes, flipping her shiny waterfall of dark tresses, approaching her car.

"I don't think it's very smart to piss off the girl driving you around especially right before a game," Dylan says, semi-joking, semi-serious. It's then that he notices the way Hunter's watching Silver, the apprehension in his eyes. "Man, she's strong."

"No kidding," Hunter agrees flatly. "Something's wrong with Rodge and he won't talk about it which is a first seeing as we can't get him to shut up majority of the time. Did you see how he grabbed her? It's like I don't even know my own brother anymore."

"We both know what game he's playing," Dylan says, watching as Silver starts the car. "Rodge wants out of the relationship, but he doesn't have the balls to tell her he just isn't that into her anymore. So he's pushing her away, trying to get her to end it so he won't feel as bad."

"Something tells me it's worse than that," Hunter says, shaking his head.

"Let's hope not," Dylan gravely replies, running his hand over his face. "You should really get going before the kids get home or worse, the Admiral."

"Yeah, with my dad and my coach, I've got enough assholes screaming at me all day," Hunter nods, but then his lips turn down in a frown. "So I guess this means you aren't coming to my game either?"

Dylan laughs bitterly and motions to the thick plaster encasing his arm. "Honestly, bro, right now the last thing on my mind is the New London verses Kennedy High final championship football game. Good luck though."

"Like I need it," Hunter beams and pats Dylan on the shoulder. "You take it easy, man."

Dylan stands and watches the car drive off, Silver sporting a pair of oversize shades and Hunter holding onto the dashboard for dear life. He then heads back into the lighthouse and halfway up the stairs is when he finally feels loneliness weighing him down. When he's with his friends, time passes by so quickly and he has a good time talking about absolutely nothing and everything at the same time.

"Thanks for having a party and not inviting me, Dylan."

Dylan sees that the couch in the living room, the one he's been planted to for majority of the day, now holds Phoebe North who's picking at one of the leftover pieces of pizza. Instantly flashing back to yesterday, Dylan suddenly feels cold and his hands go clammy. He really doesn't know how to talk to her anymore.

"No party," Dylan corrects her, walking deeper into the messy living room. "But hey, next time if we break out Mrs. Munion's special stash and streamers, I'll text you."

Phoebe doesn't seem amused by his sarcasm.

"What are you even doing here, Phoebe?"

"For one, I live here and it's almost three, Dylan," she snaps and Dylan runs his fingers through his hair, not realizing Hunter and Silver had stayed so long. "I, um, drove your Mustang to school. I know that car's your baby or whatever, but to be honest, it sucks."

"Yeah, it does," Dylan agrees with a little laugh. He flexes his fingers, hardly being able to remember what it feels like to be behind the wheel of a car. "Don't worry about her. I'm looking forward to fixing her up this summer."

"Cool," Phoebe nods and Dylan finds himself sitting on the arm of the couch, leaving a good couple feet between Phoebe and him. She suddenly looks up at him, her eyes giving away her curiosity. "Did you really mean what you said back there?"

He squares his shoulders coyly. "What did I say?"

"About life being bored now that you and your little gang of mischievous yet damn talented friends aren't, well, friends anymore," Phoebe reiterates and Dylan remembers, nodding. "I, um, kinda overheard a bit of that."

"Why didn't you join the party?" Dylan wonders aloud. "Silver says hi by the way."

"The last conversation I had with Silver didn't exactly end on a high note," Phoebe says; her face twisting guiltily. "She told me she was dating Rodge again and I told her he's a womanizing man-slut who's just going to hurt her in the end."

Dylan chuckles with a hint of sadness in the sound. "Hey, you might be right. I know we tease him about liking Christina a lot, but something bigger is going on and he won't talk to us. Silver's confused and Hunter's worried about him. Hell, I'm worried."

There's a silence that settles in and it isn't exactly a comfortable one.

"So are you going to say it or am I?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Last night," Dylan reminds her, standing. He's lost his patience. He can't simply sit there beside her and pretend that nothing happened. That seems to be the only thing Phoebe's certain of. She has these little explosions and immediately tries to move on like she didn't just pick a fight or get upset over the smallest issue or _kiss him back_.

"You were vulnerable last night," Phoebe says quietly. "You just had your pride stomped on in front of the whole school and I−I just broke up with Jason _for good_. We're just all mixed up and confused and I didn't mean for things to turn out how they did. I didn't mean−"

"Yeah, well, it happened, Phoebe," Dylan drills into her head, unable to sit and listen to her list excuses. "Am I supposed to just sit here and act like nothing happened? Am I supposed to forget about it? I can't do that, Phoebe. I can't."

"I don't know what you want from me!" Phoebe shouts back, yet another dramatic explosion. "I don't understand what happened last night. Truthfully, it scares the hell out of me, Dylan. I'm just glad that I stopped things before anything happened that we'd be regretting right now. I hate this, Dylan. I hate being confused around you. Things were perfect before. You were my brother, my best friend. Now…now I don't know what to think…"

"That makes two of us…"

"I should go," she awkwardly suggests and he doesn't try to stop her. Phoebe gives no explanation as to where she's going. Dylan sits perfectly still until he hears the door slam. Blinking, he wonders how things got so bad so quickly without it even registering in his head.

Dylan threads his fingers through his hair, his digits coiling around the tresses until he can feel the pressure against his scalp. He knows this thing with Phoebe is completely out of control and all of it just makes him angry. He wants a time machine so he can go back and stop that first kiss, that single moment of bliss that shattered his content life. Dylan doesn't know where he can get a time machine, but he does know where Mrs. Munion keeps her booze.

He may not be able to go back and change everything, but he can try to forget everything.

He's standing in mere seconds, his bare feet thundering against the hardwood floors as he ventures deep inside, his destination being the little room behind the kitchen. Mrs. Munion, bless her soul, thinks that no one notices when she takes a quick liquor break in the evenings. Well, she's incredibly disillusioned because everyone knows. Dylan's sure she won't notice a bottle gone and if she did, she'd never question Frank or Helen on the matter.

Dylan easily steels a glass bottle of liquor and sneaks out. With his room shrouded in darkness, he undoes the cap. The smell alone brings back memories of the good days, of when he was happy and carefree and surrounded by happy and carefree people.

He takes a swig, dedicating it to Phoebe and how he complicated her life. Another swig is for his reputation that's down the drain. The third is for his friends; for Silver and Rodge and their deteriorating relationship; for Hunter and his desperate attempt to keep things from falling apart. The four is for Cecelia, for Devin and all those lost and broken.

After the fifth he loses count.

* * *

**Love Bug ©Jonas Brothers  
**

**Gives You Hell © All American Rejects **


	9. Caught

**Temporary Insanity **

**Chapter Nine: Caught **

Christina Beardsley knows it isn't right, but she can't help herself.

"Rodge…"

"I'm sorry," he instantly apologizes with his eyes on his sneakers. "I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be bothering you it's just…I need someone to talk to." He looks up at her through the dark shield of hair that falls across his eyes like a sad little puppy. "I need you, Christina."

She's frightened, being one of only two people standing in the school parking lot. She's frightened because the other person is Rodge Montgomery, the boy she's been warned countless times to stay away from, the boy who looks as if he's falling apart by the seams. Their eyes meet and she regrets waving off her friends once cheer practice ended, saying she'll catch a ride home with Rodge.

"Wh− what happened?"

"I got into a fight," he admits and paces back and forth, his face contorting with sheer agony. "I got into a fight with Hunter because I did something stupid and I'm sorry I did it, I really am, but I was so angry at the time. God, I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Rodge, you aren't making any sense," Christina says slowly, easing closer towards him. She lays her hand on his forearm and Rodge quickly pulls away, keeping his eyes on the dirty laces of his Converse. "Let's just…start from the beginning, alright?"

The musician takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and attempts to unscramble his thoughts.

"Silver and I got into a fight," he says much more calmly and Christina falters at the mention of his girlfriend, never once showing it. "She got all pissed that I went to Devin's party last weekend. It was one party and she turns it into this huge thing! And Hunter, that traitor, he always takes her side. _Always_."

"Well, let's be logical here," Christina tries to reason with him. "If she was going out without even bothering to tell you, wouldn't you be upset? Wouldn't you want to know?"

"No," Rodge answers evenly.

"Really?" Christina asks, furrowing her brows. "Because I sure would."

"That's the thing," Rodge says, his face looking rather thoughtful. "I can't control her. If I can't stop her from running off to Yale and leaving me behind then why does she pick fights with me about hanging out with Devin and the guys when she knows she can't stop me?"

Christina can't find an answer, but she sees the bigger picture. She sees why he's fading back into that person he once was, hanging out with boys who think they're all grown up, thugs and gangsters. Rodge knows the risk. He's seen what happened to Dylan. Yet he still goes back to damn Devin. It's because he's scared with graduation approaching. If he's going to be left behind then he's going to bond with people who're going to be left behind with him.

"So she's going to Yale, huh?"

"I don't see why not," Rodge shrugs. "She got accepted. Silver's just a little rich girl who deserves her little rich world and as much as I try to pretend, I'm never going to fit in it. Hell, I'm not going to college. I don't know what I want. I don't think I ever did."

"Well, college isn't for everyone," Christina says encouragingly, though she hears her father's outraged voice in the back of her head telling her otherwise. "Have you talked to, um, Silver about any of this?"

"I try," Rodge says quite bashfully. He seems embarrassed to admit it, but he is the one that initiated this, that begged for her to listen to him. Rodge takes a deep breath and goes on, "I try but I always seem to fuck it up. God, Christina, why am I so fucked up?"

Christina frowns, watching Rodge kick at the pebbles on the ground, his face so long and sad. She can't help herself and reaches forward, pulling him into a much needed hug. The school womanizer is stiff at first, refusing to respond, but he soon warms up to her touch and wholeheartedly returns the embrace.

Christina doesn't know how this has happened, how she became friends with Rodge Montgomery. She remembers the flirting when she was the new girl, fresh meat in a locker that's grown old and cold. He backed off once finding out she's Dylan and Phoebe's stepsister, but lately he's been rather sweet and Christina can't help but find herself enchanted.

She decides it's time to pull away when realizing she's been too close to him for too long and liked it a little too much. When she sees his face, he's smiling such a gorgeous smile thought the sadness reflected in his dark eyes is undeniable.

"Again, I'm sorry for unloading all my shit on you. I must sound like a little bitch," Rodge tries to laugh through his sadness and Christina attempts to smiling along. Whether they fail or not, neither seem to care really, too concentrated on the other. "Anyways, thank you. You're a good friend, Christina."

"It's what I do," Christina coolly replies and Rodge lets out a low chuckle, bringing his arms around her in another hug. This time, it's Christina's turn to tense and fearfully pull away. "Look, I think it's cool you can come to me when you need someone to talk to. I mean, most people have issues opening up and I'm glad you aren't one of them, but…I don't think we can do this anymore, Rodge."

"Why not?"

"You have a girlfriend who you obviously need to sort things out with," Christina says automatically, taking a step away from him. "I can't help but think that having me around even as just a good friend is going to compliment things."

"Babe, take a breath, you're turning red," he points out with a childlike grin and Christina's momentarily confused, wondering if he's even heard her entire nerve-wracking monologue. "Aw, c'mon, Christina, it's not like I'm married or whatever. I can still have friends, can't I?"

"Slow your roll, hotshot," Christina warns him, holding her hands up and shaking her head. "I've seen _He's Just Not that into You_ and I'll be damned if I'm Scarlett Johansson."

"Yeah, I've got no clue what you're talking about," Rodge admits laughingly, honestly unable to decode her chick babble. "I do know that you need a ride home and that means I have a whole twenty minutes where I get to brainwash you with my music."

"Just promise to keep the scary screeching to a minimum," Christina desperately proposes.

"Sorry, boo, no promises," Rodge laughs and opens the door to his Jeep, motioning for the cheerleader to slide in. Once she's clearly inside and already struggling with the seatbelt, Rodge gently shuts the door and rounds the front, smiling to himself.

Rodge desperately wishes he could smile and be so relaxed with his girlfriend, but no, this goofy grin and carefree demeanor seems to be solely reserved for Christina Beardsley.

…

The Jeep speeds off and Christina hates this. She hates the smile on her face, the one that's there because of Rodge Montgomery. She stands for a moment, thinking over the last twenty minutes. She hates the way he makes her laugh even if he isn't trying to be funny. She hates that she loves his music and that he isn't like any of the boys she's grown up with, the cold and mean future Coast Guards that never talk about their feelings.

Most of all, she hates that he has a girlfriend and though they haven't done anything beyond riding in cars together and talking, Christina hates feeling like the other woman.

Christina finally ventures into the lighthouse, going straight to the kitchen for a drink. She briefly scans over a note on the refrigerator, explaining that Kelly has a soccer game and the younger kids have gone to support her. Realizing that she has her own game she needs to get ready for, Christina trots up the stairs to her room when she's momentarily distracted by the sound of vomiting.

She curses her incurable curiosity and goes to investigate.

Christina easily throws the first bathroom door open and finds it empty. She then hears gagging and charges down the hall, forcing back the door of the second. Her eyes go wide when she sees shards of broken glass scattered all across the floor and a miserable teenage boy leaning against the bathtub, green in the face.

"Dylan, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Christina questions with a gasp, placing a hand on her hip. Her only reply is Dylan groaning and refusing to look at her. The blonde high school junior is careful not to step on any of the glass, grabbing Dylan's cheek and forcing him to look at her. "Are you on drugs again?"

"You'd assume that, wouldn't you, Barbie?" Dylan laughs bitterly and leans back against the wall, his eyes glazed over, smelling strongly of liquor. "Do you honestly think I'm that stupid? I normally prefer tequila and tacos…"

"You idiot," Christina says with disgust, jumping away. "Do you know how stupid you're being? What the hell is this about? Is it because Jason broke your arm or that lame band thingy? No…it's a girl isn't it? It's always about a girl. God, Dylan, you've got a good life, but if you keep pulling these stupid stunts−"

"Jeez, quit talking to me like my mom!" Dylan shouts, his fingers latching onto the towel rack, his wobbly feet attempting to stand. A moment later, his legs collapse and he's back to his original spot. "You won't understand."

"Make me understand," Christina quickly shoots back, sitting comfortably on the edge of the bathtub. Her friends waiting downstairs completely slip her mind.

"I've never had that reaction to alcohol ever," Dylan complains, lying down across the blue fuzzy bathroom rub. Christina seems apprehensive, her eyes darting from him to the broken glass on the floor. Dylan doesn't even notice. "A few sips and I felt sick to my stomach. It's weird because I never even threw up the first time I ever got really wasted."

"Maybe it's not so much the alcohol itself, but like an emotional reaction because you've been clean for so long and your conscience was telling you it's not right," Christina assesses, thoughtfully stroking her chin with her fingertips. "What's going on, Dylan?"

"It isn't important."

"Well, it must be important if you'd stupidly think alcohol would make you forget," Christina challenges. "Let's make a deal. I'll clean up all this glass and you tell me what's going on."

"You're taking advantage of me temporary losing my sanity," Dylan complains, nervously running his hands through his already messy brown hair. He sighs and slouches down, defeated. "Fine, seeing Princess Beardsley clean is so worth it."

Christina simply rolls her eyes and goes to the hallway closet, finding a broom and dustpan. She reluctantly gets down on her hands and knees to sweep up every shard of glass. Christina clears her throat, "I don't hear you explaining."

"The day started out shitty. My arm hurts like hell and your brother was being annoying," Dylan lazily recalls. "My friends stopped by for lunch and everything was going good − minus a little Rodge and Silver clash − then Phoebe came home and we got into another stupid fight."

"You flinched when you said Phoebe," Christina observes as she dumps the dustpan of glass into the trashcan. Christina sits on the floor, directly across from Dylan, watching him with eyes of interest. "So this has to do with Phoebe."

"I told her about the incident with Devin when I, you know, ODed," Dylan tells her, playing with a strip of leather around his wrist. "She thinks she knows me. She's got this outline of who I am in her head and when I don't live up to her expectations…I don't know… she just tries to avoid it till it goes away and that pisses me off."

"Since when have you started caring what Phoebe thinks?"

"I don't know," Dylan replies. He's rather annoyed with himself, not being able to come up with than answer. "Listen, I'm nauseas and pissed off and I need you to do me a favor."

Christina seems skeptical. "What is it?"

"When my mom gets home can you tell her I want to see her in my room?" Dylan proposes and Christina, finding the task simple, nods. "While I'm talking to her I want you to find my Vicodin. It should be in her purse. I need it, Christina. The physical pain is killing me."

Not to mention the emotional pain too.

"Dylan, get it through your thick skull," Christina says, partly annoyed and partly sympathetic. "If you get addicted again, my dad is going to convince Helen to send you to rehab or maybe even military school. Even worse, if you keep taking Vicodin and alcohol, you can _die_."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Dylan questions morbidly and Christina feels a jolt of pure fear travel down her spine. "Ha, jeez, Beardsley, learn how to take a joke. I'm kidding. It's just been a…crappy day. I'll be fine by tomorrow."

"I know things suck around now, but they'll get better. I'm sure," Christina reassures him comfortingly. Dylan heaves a heavy sigh and Christina lets her mind wander in the silence. "Dylan…Phoebe and you…you two didn't…I mean, there's nothing…going on, right? I mean, between you two, right?"

"If you're asking if I ever hooked up with Phoebe…then you're seriously insane." Dylan's entire face contorts in a look of clear repulsion. This is the only way Dylan saw this happening. He's sober enough to know better than to share his dark secret with Christina of all people. "What makes you think of that?"

"Nothing, well, Phoebe was telling me about kissing some guy who's like a brother to her," Christina explains with a shrug. "Come to think of it, she's been really freaked out since then. It was about the same time as you started acting weird too. I just thought that there was some kind of connection, that's all."

"You shouldn't be surprised. We're Norths. We've got some serious problems," Dylan laughs bitterly, combing his fingers through his hair. "It's just how we roll."

"Amen to that," Christina says jokingly, feeling rather stupid that she'd even ask the question, especially aloud and to Dylan. "Ew, you're so right. I mean, Phoebe and you, incest fest."

Her words leave a bitter taste in his mouth, though Dylan easily covers it with a smile.

"Hey, pay attention because I'm never going to say this ever again," Dylan warns, uncomfortable in the direction this conversation is going. "Thanks for…whatever this was…"

"See, I keep telling everyone I'd be an awesome counselor, but no one believes me. Seriously, coming to me is definitely a lot cheaper than going to some overpriced professional," Christina responds cheekily. "One last piece of advice: brush your teeth and use the whole bottle of mouthwash because your breath can wipe out a whole nation."

Christina bounces to her feet, holding out a hand to help Dylan. She grabs his toothbrush from the rack and allies the toothpaste for him. Dylan obediently brushes every tooth and rinses his mouth with mouthwash, ridding his oral cavity of the mixture of alcohol and bile. Her eyes trace his cast and she smiles, seeing Hunter's message of: Next time you plan on getting your ass handed to you, call me _first_. I got your back, North. − Hunter.

"I know your dirty little secret, you closet Champagne Gang fan. Wait till I get you into Gossip Girl. Love Silver," Christina reads aloud. "You like Champagne Gang?"

"Silver's a cynic, but it doesn't mean she doesn't have a sense of humor," Dylan explains after spitting into the sink. "Silver's one of my best friends, you know."

Christina nods with her blue eyes staring straight through the mirror. "So I've heard."

"I know you like Rodge and that's cool," Dylan says, easily noticing how she stiffens at his comment, ready for a defensive retort, but he cuts her off. "I also know that you're cool and you'll do the right thing."

"And the right thing's not to date him, right, because he already has a girlfriend?" Christina asks rather coldly. "He isn't happy and she isn't happy, but all that matters is that they're _in_ _a relationship_. Wow, for people who say they hate labels, you and Phoebe sure have been on my ass about this imaginary scenario where you think I'm going to break them up."

"Relax, _sis_," Dylan smiles coolly. "You're right. I'm just saying that maybe you should wait till he sorts through his shit before getting tangled up in all of it. Personally, I've got no problem with you dating Rodge if that's what you both mutually want, just not while he's dating Silver."

"Yeah right," Christina says sharply. "You can honestly say you wouldn't mind me dating one of your friends?"

"I mean, if the feelings are genuine and real then nothing else should matter, right?"

"Right," Christina agrees, wondering when the hell Dylan North became so insightful. He's leaning heavily against the sink and Christina takes a moment to look at him and all the colorful scribbles across the plaster on his arm. "Hey, I didn't get to sign your cast yet."

Dylan rolls his eyes and pulls a drawer open, digging through miscellaneous junk before coming across a marker. He leans against the sink and she quickly scribbles against his cast, smiling to herself. It reads: get well soon, Mushroom head.

"Ha, no one calls me that…you are so dead," Dylan warns her and instantly Christina rushes towards the door, laughing. Still a bit disoriented, Dylan stumbles forward, chasing her. Christina speeds out the door, trying to keep a good distance between Dylan and her.

Somehow he manages to lunge forward and grab onto her, his tight hold denying Christina movement of her arms. The weight of his body pulls down the petite girl to the point where she loudly stumbles down the hallway.

"Okay, someone is in serious need of a diet," Christina teases, squirming and trying to break free from his hold. Dylan's hold is firm, him still having a major headache and his senses not so clear. He's sure another ten hours of sleep will fix him right up.

"Diet, huh? Well, someone is in need of some weight training," Dylan instinctively replies. "I thought cheerleaders were supposed to be strong."

"FYI I do weight train and we, cheerleaders, are strong," Christina counters, "but we never trained to lift cows. Since I feel sorry for you I guess I'll get you to your room, but after this, don't you ever try to use Christina as crutches ever again."

"Christina, you aren't gonna tell anyone about this, right?" Dylan practically pleads. "If anyone finds out especially mom, Frank, William…or Phoebe, I'm dead. You gotta promise."

"As far as I'm concerned, this never happened," Christina nods affirmatively.

The two share a look of agreement before they turn a corner and come face to face with a startled and slightly confused Phoebe. Blinking, Dylan's arms go slack and he releases Christina from his friendly hold, choosing to lean against the hallway wall to keep from collapsing. It's completely silent and more awkward than it should be. Christina's lips part as if to explain, but then she catches Dylan's downhearted face and stops. She did promise him.

"What never happened?" Phoebe asks, her tone making it seem like more of an interrogation than an inquiry. She must have just gotten home, the strap of her backpack still strapped to her back.

"It's nothing," Christina quickly replies. "Um something just happened in Chemistry class. Trust me, Phoebe, you don't want to know. It's a stupid junior thing a senior wouldn't care about. That reminds me. Dylan, I've got your missed assignments. You have so many teachers who go off in angry rants the second I say your name."

"Mrs. Lockdolt grade eleven English," Dylan said with a knowing nod. "She hates me. I'm barely passing her class."

"Well, um, I'll get those assignments for you," Christina says uneasily and walks back down the hall, disappearing into the room she shares with Phoebe. Once Christina disappears, Dylan can feel Phoebe's eyes on him. He doesn't even look at her, scowling and walking off to his room. Even when she follows him, he pays her no attention.

"Go away, Phoebe. I have a headache and it's killing me. I just wanna be alone…"

"What is going on, Dylan?" Phoebe asks exasperatedly. He lifts himself to sit atop William's desk that's so clean one would insist he's OCD. Tapping her foot and crossing her arms, Phoebe sneers, "So are you and Christina…is something going on that I don't know about?"

"You're looking a little jealous, Pheebs. You might want to go take care of that," Dylan smirks, rather amused. Phoebe loudly throws her bag aside and narrows her eyes.

"Oh, Mr. Smartass, tell me what I'm jealous of?" Phoebe challenges. Dylan sways his feet back and forth while staring out the open window. He's waiting for someone to come home, for that yellow school bus to crawl up the hill and put an end to this conversation.

"You're jealous that I'm going to move on," Dylan responds, immediately finding her eyes. "I can't just sit here and wait for you, Phoebe. These last couple of days has been hell. I like you and now I'm willing to admit that, but I can't always be the one who initiates this. It's either you like me or you don't. I can't keep doing this. I just can't…"

Phoebe finds him annoying and infuriating and stubborn and extremely attractive. She watches as his lips part, as he continues to talk, but his words don't reach his ears because her lips are moving against his. Her fingers dig into the collar of his shirt and she yanks him close, her body pressed to his. Her hand dives through his chocolate locks as she brings his bottom lip between hers, sucking gently.

Dylan wants to be strong, but come on, it's Phoebe. He kisses her back, deepening the kiss with such passion and affection. She hates the sudden weakness she feels in her knees and he hates this overwhelming need to somehow get closer, to touch her. They hate this, but can't seem to tear themselves apart. They hate the trouble this will bring, but they love it oh so much − the intensity, the feeling of being complete.

The sound of books loudly hitting the floor startles both. Phoebe practically jumps away, being so nervous and on edge lately. She knows everyone can see it and now someone, someone who probably lives in this lighthouse, knows the reason why she's been that way.

Dylan self-consciously wipes his lips against the sleeve of his shirt, turning towards the door and seeing a horrified blonde, her jaw gaping and practically hitting the floor. His homework and all his text books are scattered all across the floor, but the mess it the least of their problems. Christina looks as if a million questions are running through her head and sadly, Phoebe and Dylan don't have the answers to a single one.

"I-I'm drunk," Dylan says, raising his hand, as if that's a reasonable explanation. He falls onto his bed with a thud and both girls turn to stare at him as if that's the stupidest thing they've ever heard. Dylan simply sighs, placing a hand against his forehead.

They're caught.


	10. Lyrics Tell All, Actions Say Nothing

**Temporary Insanity**

**Chapter Ten: Lyrics Tell All, Actions Say Nothing**

"OH. MY. GOD!!"

Christina stumbles into the boys' room, needing to sit and finding her brother's perfect bed across the room from two very nervous Norths. She keeps looking from Dylan to Phoebe, her eyes moving so quickly that her head begins to throb from the dizziness. Dylan's sitting on his bed with a blank stare and Phoebe's leaning against her brother's messy desk, her arms insecurely wrapped around her shoulders.

"Have you two completely lost it?" Christina explodes. "Does your mom know?"

"Of course not," Phoebe quickly answers. With a look of desperation on her pale face, Phoebe runs her fingers through her honey brown locks. Her heart's thumping so rapidly in her chest, Phoebe wouldn't doubt if the other two teens in the room could heart it. "It was a mistake…"

"There you go again," Dylan scowls, throwing his hands up in the air. He stands and walks over to Phoebe who backs away with uncertainty. "You run, Phoebe. You run away from every little thing that you don't want to deal with. Christina knows now. We just gotta suck it up and deal."

"You want me to deal?" Phoebe asks, her voice rising with each word. "I don't know what this is, Dylan. I don't want to feel this way about you. I never wanted it to escalade. I just want it all to go away. Now that three of us know, it's only a matter of time before everyone in the house finds out and eventually everyone in school and everyone in town after that."

"Would that be so bad?" Dylan inquires. Hearing her wish away her feelings for him is like a knife to his heart. He tries his hardest to hide the fact that she hurt him. "You know what…just…whatever. Run if you like. I don't give a damn anymore."

It's silent as Dylan and Phoebe locked eyes. They search each other, trying to read each other's body language and find an answer. All they find is confusion and strangely, concern. Even stranger, Christina's the one to break the silence with her laughter. Dylan and Phoebe turn to the blonde who's laughs turn hysterical, her eyes beginning to tear. Replacing that shocked, jaw dropped expression is a wide grin.

"What's so funny?"

"You so want each other. It's disturbingly funny, like Jerry Springer or something," Christina says, rubbing her eyes. Phoebe and Dylan fail at finding any of this amusing though Christina continues to laugh despite the tension in the hair.

"I'm so glad you're utterly amused," Phoebe says dryly, glancing over at her stepsister. It's much easier than staring at the adopted brother she just jumped and kissed in front of their stepsister. "What are we supposed to do?"

"We're all supposed to shut up and keep this our little secret," Dylan steps up to take charge. No other option seems fit. "Seriously, mom would take it better if I told her I was gay and having unholy thoughts about William. If she found out we were−"

"Breaking each other's falls with your lips," Christina finishes with a sputter, her laughter dying down to giggles. Both Dylan and Phoebe just glare over at the blonde who grins back. "I could imagine the conversation. _So_ awkward…"

"Please, Christina, you have to promise us," Phoebe begs as she continues to ignore Dylan and takes a seat beside the blonde. They hear the sound of loudly chattering children and instantly know the youngsters are already home. This conversation needs to end _now_.

"Don't worry," Christina assures them once her laughter subsides and the reality of the situation sinks in. "Guys, this is so screwed up, you know that, right? How long has this been going on?"

"It doesn't matter…because it's over."

"It can't be over if there wasn't anything fucking there to start with," Dylan says coldly, evidently angry and hurt. Phoebe says nothing, simply walking out of the room and down the hall. This time, she doesn't even bother to look back. He watched as she walked away again, straight out the door and down the hallway.

"Dylan…"

"I'm taking a nap," he says with no emotion and dives beneath the sheets of his bed.

"That's cool. Being a cheerleader apparently in need of weight training, I've gotta get to the game," Christina says, frowning sympathetically. "This kinda awesome and oddly insightful guy once told me that if the feelings are genuine and real then nothing else matters. Just remember that, okay?"

"It's kinda hard," Dylan laughs bitterly, "but I'll try. Thanks, Christina."

"Anytime." Christina runs a comforting circle against his tense shoulder before she stands and walks out, leaving Dylan to brood in the comforts of his empty room. He groans, tired of lying in his bed and feeling sorry for himself. He needs to get out. He needs a good time.

Dylan rolls over in his bed and reaches for the bedside table, snatching up his cell phone that's been sitting right beside a little black pin with a pink bunny printed on. Despite the nauseas feeling in the pit of his stomach, Dylan searches for one specific number, one he hasn't called in so long, but could never convince himself to delete.

His lips curl into a smirk when he hears the voice cooing on the other side of the phone.

"Hey Cecelia," he breathes though his heart doesn't beat fast in his chest like it should. Still, he goes through with it. "I was just thinking and maybe we should give it another shot. That would be amazing. Sure, I'll see you tonight at Devin's."

He ends the call, not caring if it's a school night. After spending so many straight days trapped in the lighthouse, Dylan's desperate to get out. He quickly changes into some socially acceptable clothes and makes his way down the stairs, trying not to draw any attention to himself. It isn't hard. With seventeen other kids running around the house, Dylan feels like he's somehow been warped into a chapter from Lord of the Flies.

Dylan presses his back to a wall in the hallway when he hears William's faint voice coming from the kitchen. He slyly steals the keys to William's SUV and smoothly disappears out the door. He needs to take William's car. It's automatic and easy. Dylan really can't drive with his stick shift old school Mustang and a broken arm.

"Dylan, where are you going?"

He hears the fragility and innocence in the voice and it shatters him.

"Hey Jo," Dylan greets his little sister who's caught him halfway to William's SUV. He grins at Joni North who returns his stare with suspicion. It makes Dylan smile, seeing the likeliness between Phoebe and Joni, sisters by birth. Phoebe takes after Helen in almost every physical attribute while Joni inherited their father's dark hair. Besides both having dark brown eyes, the one major and obvious trait shared between the two is their paleness.

"Hey D," Joni mimics, still watching him with wariness. "How's your arm?"

"You know I don't lie to you," Dylan says and it makes the young girl grin. "I feel like a truck just run over my arm, reversed over it and ran over it again and again and again and again."

Joni frowns. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about me, kiddo. You aren't the idiot who broke it," he assures her with a light laugh. Dylan sits on the front steps of the lighthouse and Joni hops down to take a seat beside him. "What's up, Jo? You want to talk about something?"

"Just wondering where you were going," she replies innocently. "Which is?"

"Football game," Dylan lies unthinkingly and Joni looks at him, puzzled. Dylan North isn't exactly a sports fan or one to give into high school brainwash and Joni knows him well enough to find all of this doubtful. "You know how I've been having problems with my friends and I'm sick and tired of all this drama. So despite how much I hate school functions, I'm going to go watch Hunter play."

"Aren't you still grounded?" Joni questions and Dylan grits his teeth. "Frank is going to kill you if he finds out that you're sneaking out!"

"Frank isn't going to find out," Dylan corrects and nudges his little sister with his shoulder. "Come on, Joni, just like old times. If anyone can organize and execute plan keep-mom-and-the-Admiral-clueless-while-your-favorite-brother-leaves-the-house-for-the-first-time-in-four-months it's you, little J."

Joni can't help, but smile, flattered. "Well, I am kinda awesome, aren't I?"

"The awesomest," he says and it makes him smile to know he isn't lying to her for once in the course of this conversation. After dramatically sighing, Joni gives him the nod and the loyalty leaves Dylan impressed. "Thanks, kid. I've been going crazy locked up in the lighthouse."

"I've got you covered," Joni assures him. "Go have fun, Dylan."

"You are the best," he worships her, throwing his arm around the ten-year-old and pulling her close for a warm hug. "Don't worry. I'll be home before you know it."

Dylan playfully ruffles her dark tresses and the young girl laughs aloud at her brother's goofy side that he seldom shows to outsiders. They exchange a quick last goodbye and Dylan sneaks off to William's SUV while Joni goes back inside, making sure that no one is close enough to the porch to see. He sits behind the wheel and waits for the signal − something they've done so many times in the past.

The moment comes just perfect. At the shrill sound of the saxophone, Dylan takes his cue and starts the engine, knowing that everyone in the house will be horrified at the sound of Joni playing, distracting them to the point where a car engine won't even register with their bleeding ears.

Dylan doesn't like lying to his family − specifically Joni who's sweet and young and hangs on every one of his words. He doesn't like lying to her, but he knows if he told her he was sneaking out to hang out with Devin and Cecelia that Joni (anyone in the house, really) would go straight to Frank and Helen in a heartbeat.

He shoves the guilt that comes with deceiving his sister to the back of his head and drives off without even so much as a glance back.

…

"How could I let this happen?" Phoebe muses aloud, pacing back and forth. Her expression is blank as she stares at the wall and Christina is busy rushing around the room, preparing for the football game tonight. "I mean…it's sick and wrong and illegal. Plus, it's Dylan. He's the most arrogant and irritating guy on the planet…well, besides William and sometimes Rodge."

"He's leaving," Christina announces, standing by the window, spotting Dylan who doesn't even bother to look around before unlocking William's car and driving down the hill.

"He's probably going to hang out with Devin or that skank, Cecelia," Phoebe sneers. She shakes her head and tries to convince herself that she doesn't care. She refuses to let his childish antics get to her. "He's such a damn hypocrite saying that I run every time I can't deal with something. What's he doing right now? It sure as hell looks like running to me."

"Phoebe, he's just…confused."

"Like I'm not," Phoebe says angrily. She pulls a familiar notebook from beneath her pillow and begins flipping through it, her movement so harsh some pages tear at the spine.

"What?" Christina stops with her mascara wand in hand, quickly turning to gaze over at her older stepsister. Phoebe cries out in utter frustration and hurls her notebook at the wall in one violent sweep of her arm. Christina jumps at her vanity when the book hits the wall and all the papers scatter to the floor.

"Why the hell is all of this happening?" Phoebe asks in an extremely calm whisper. Christina feels nervous and she allows her eyes to fall to the floor, not being able to give Phoebe an answer. The cheerleader notices how a certain page has fallen to her feet, the words catching her eye.

_What just happened?  
Did you kiss me?  
Cause that's a place we've never been until now_

_And I don't know how it's gonna be after this  
Do we pretend these feelings don't exist at all  
Or do we fall?_

_My confusion shows whenever you get so close  
I stumble, I stutter, forget what to say  
I'm nervous, I wonder why I'm acting this way_

"Christina, what are you looking at?" Phoebe asks with curiosity, tilting her head to one side. Christina ignores her, reaching down for the paper in need of a closer look.

_It's temporary insanity  
What's going on with you and me?  
Is it real or is it fantasy?  
Forever or just temporary?_

"Christina, let me see," Phoebe nervously insists. She jumps out of her bed and walks over, panicking when she notices what's on the paper. Phoebe looks absolutely petrified. "Christina, give it to me now!"

"Wait. Let me finishing reading it," Christina says absentmindedly, pulling the paper away from Phoebe as her eyes search the lyrics. Terrified of what Christina might say, Phoebe propels forward, desperately scrambling to reclaim the sheet of paper.

_You made a moved and changed your mind  
Too much to lose, you've crossed the line between friends  
And something more_

_Was it all a big mistake?  
And if it was, it's much too late to undo  
And I don't really want to_

_Let you go but I still don't know  
How I feel about you  
What this really means  
It's crazy to want you  
Is it meant to be?_

"Don't touch my crap ever again," Phoebe threateningly advises and yanks the paper away. Christina watches as the paper crumples in Phoebe's hand before she bends down to collect all the other fallen pages.

"Phoebe, is that how you really feel?" Christina asks; her voice soft. There's no more laughter or teasing. If it's another boy, Jason or even William, Christina would be wearing a crazy smirk and would never let Phoebe live it down.

But it's not Jason. It isn't William either. It's Dylan.

"Go ahead," Phoebe shouts, her voice as sharp as knives. "Laugh because I don't care. Like I said, it's over."

"You aren't being fair to him," Christina fights, so serious and unlike the usually bubbly cheerleader. "He wants you and you want him too, but you're denying it in front of him and you've got to know hearing that is _killing_ him. That song obviously says otherwise, Phoebe."

"Like the song, it's just temporary insanity," Phoebe simply shrugs. "I'll get over it."

"Phoebe, as cheesy as it probably sounds, you can't deny love or who you love no matter how insane it may be," Christina warns the musician who bites hard against her bottom lip. "Is there more?"

"There's so much more," Phoebe confesses despite the pit of fear within her. Phoebe flattens the creases out of the paper she'd just crumpled and sticks it back into the book. "It started when I went to that winter break college tour thing. Every day I wrote a different song and as much as I tried to deny it even to myself…I was thinking about him the whole time."

It takes Christina a moment to digest everything. It's hard to watch Phoebe break down, having has no idea whatsoever how to fix everything. Phoebe's just a girl in love with a boy that loves her back. Christina realizes them being legal siblings, having the same last name, might make things a lot more complicated than any of them ever anticipated.

…

"D, what're you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Dylan inquires, almost angrily. He's standing in the driveway to one of the largest houses in all of Connecticut located in one of the more wealthy New London neighborhoods. The sun is long gone and teenagers are buzzing, piling into the mansion with Ferraris in the six car garage and an indoor pool out back.

Dylan's leaning awkwardly against William's SUV with the one and only Rodge Montgomery across from him. Rodge looks absolutely shocked to see Dylan North at one of Devin's parties and vice versa. Dylan narrows his eyes and asks the question even though he already knows the answer, "does Silver know you're here?"

"You were there today," Rodge says, evading the question. "What do you think?"

"Shouldn't you be at your brother's game?"

"Shouldn't you be home watching your girly TV shows?"

The two teenage boys share a hard stare and neither attempt to answer the other's question. Dylan doesn't know what's going on with this boy who he once referred to as his best friend. Lately, Dylan feels like Rodge is a complete stranger, sneaking around and always so guarded.

"Listen, man," Rodge starts, sighing and placing his hand on Dylan's broad shoulder. "I'm tired of fighting and drama and shit. That's why I came here and I'm guessing that's why you did too. Let's just chill for tonight, okay? Tomorrow you can go back to tearing my head off over this thing with Silver."

Dylan doesn't want to admit it, but Rodge does have a point. He too is tired of fighting with Phoebe and the drama that constantly fills the North-Beardsley lighthouse. Dylan came to Devin's house for a reason and that reason isn't to fight and cause even more drama. Plus, he came to the party with a mission and that mission isn't to give Rodge even more shit than already on his plate.

"What happens at Devin's, stays at Devin's, right?"

"Aw, see, Lennon, now you're speaking my language," Rodge smirks and throws his arm around Dylan's neck, practically dragging him in through the front door. The second they step into the house, Dylan feels like he's just walked in through the gates of hell. The heat and humidity of the room is unbearable along with the smoke lingering in the air and spilt liquor on the floor.

The house is full of scantily clothed teenage girls, all trying to act older than the birthdates on their student I.D. cards. The football game should be over in a matter of minutes and that's when the house will be completely packed whether it's a celebratory party or a self-pity party. Whether or not Hunter comes through and brings New London a title, tonight curfews are being ignored and liquor is being drained.

Rodge starts scanning the crowd though Dylan isn't sure why. Devin's isn't exactly goody two-shoes Christina Beardsley's scene. Suddenly, Dylan feels sick to his stomach at the thought of Rodge searching for an easy lay. At least if he's with Christina, Dylan knows Rodge is forced to take it slow. These girls, however, are willing to put out simply at his offer of a charming smile.

Dylan doesn't know why he's here. He doesn't know how, a couple months ago, this place had felt like his second him. He knows that Brooke's parents and Silver's parents are MIA most of the time so they'd come to Devin's for a lack of a better way to entertain themselves. Hunter and Rodge's parents don't give a shit about their late night pleasure trips − their mom working most of the time and their dad's only concern being Hunter's football career.

Then there's Dylan who actually has a mother and siblings that give a rat's ass about him. He can't count with his fingers how many times he's had Naoko or Jimi or even ten-year-old Joni cover for him while he snuck out for the night. It all seems so stupid now, the way he'd do anything just for an adrenalin rush. Now, tonight, he doesn't want that rush or old feelings to resume. All he wants is to forget.

"Whoa," Rodge grabs onto the lapel of Dylan's blazer and stops him from walking further. Smirking, Rodge nods over to a group of girls on the dance floor, laughing their intoxicated laughs and grinding their bodies against each other. "What do you say about hitting the dance floor, wingman?"

"Nah, I think I'm good here," Dylan replies, having to yell over the blaring music. Dylan knows how Rodge attracts the girls like a moth to a flame, having some seriously badass moves. Dylan knows better than to be anywhere near Rodge on a dance floor. He'll only end up looking like a complete idiot beside Mr. Smooth.

"D, look at that blonde," Rodge urges him, biting on his knuckles as the girl in a miniscule skirt throws him a saucy wink. "Aw, man, look at those damn hazel eyes. That's the shit some of the best love songs are written about."

Dylan isn't so impressed. "Silver's are nicer."

"What the fuck are you doing looking into my girl's eyes?" Rodge asks, suddenly exploding with such anger raging in his dark eye. It's times like this where Dylan feels like suggesting he seek medical attention because Rodge seems like the definition of bipolar.

_What the fuck are you doing looking at other girls behind your girlfriend's back? _That's the question on the tip of Dylan's tongue, but he holds back, remembering that this night is supposed to be a time for them to relax and unwind, not worsen the already difficult and tangled situation.

"Dude, relax." Dylan smiles to show Rodge that this doesn't have to be some tense moment that results in a fight. "I'm your wingman, brah. I wouldn't even go for Silver if you did finally grow a pair and tell her how you feel. We're family. Family doesn't chase after family's girlfriends or ex-girlfriends or even sideline mistresses. Now loosen the fuck up, will yah?"

"Wow, Mr. Mopes is telling me to loosen the fuck up? I never thought I'd see the day," Rodge teases, his blood pressure dropping as he slicks his fingers through his dark bangs. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Some whiskey would be nice," Dylan replies absentmindedly, looking from side to side.

"Your wish is my command," Rodge grins like a fool. "I'll bring you something _special_."

Dylan inwardly curses, not sure if he can take a night of hardcore partying like he could once upon a time. Rodge walks away, blending in with the crowd to the point where Dylan loses him. He's surrounded by nameless faces and tries his best to evade stumbling drunks with glasses of liquor, not wanting to get his cast wet.

"Wow, when Cecelia told me Dylan North was going to make an appearance at my little shindig, I laughed. I can't believe you're actually here," a rough voice says from behind. "Welcome home, Dylan."

Dylan wants to say how this toxic environment feels nothing like home, but his lips refuse to move. Compensating for his frozen mouth, his feet move without command, bringing Dylan face to face with someone he once looked up to, someone he once trusted with his life.

Devin.

He's nineteen-years-old and already a high school dropout. He considers himself a badass though his intimidating quality doesn't stem from his strength or the circumference of his biceps. Devin is intensely charismatic and doesn't waste his charm on trapping innocent high school virgins like Rodge. Devin is manipulative and so good with words, using that to get almost anything and everything he wants.

He comes from a wealthy family so it isn't like he has to work or go to school. He's known around town for slinging drugs and throwing the best parties. He's tall and built like a linebacker, sporting an expensive suit and a wolfish smirk. His head is buzzed, skin tan and face clean shaven. Dylan stands in front of him, the guy he blames for the overdose incident and pretending nothing happened is simply too hard.

"Dylan, you showed!" an excited voice squeals and all of a sudden he feels arms sling around his shoulders, weighing him down. A look of panic crosses his face and he moves his cast, not wanting the giggly and obviously drunk Cecelia McBride near it.

"D, drink this!" Rodge shouts, coming up beside him with a shot glass filled with a rich, golden liquid. He's holding a dark bottle of beer in his other hand and already he's smiling without a care in the world. Dylan's confused as to how he does it, how Rodge can so easily put his conscience on the backburner and go through the motions, getting some satisfaction from it.

Dylan's skin tingles when he feels Cecelia's wet vodka-laced lips sucking and licking at his neck. Devin's smirking with pride at how his family seems to be coming back together. However, Dylan sees something that Devin can't. This party, this scene, it's just failed attempts at piecing together broken parts, using alcohol and promises of sex as glue.

Despite his eyes that are now opened to the corruption he once thrived in, Dylan knows for a fact that being here, losing himself in his old ways, is ten times better than being back at that lighthouse, crying over something far more shameful and immoral.

So he takes the shot Rodge hands to him and when Cecelia presses her lips to his, he kisses her back. He kisses her hard and makes her moan and touches her hot flesh with his cold fingers. He knocks back drink after drink and laughs at stupid things that make no sense and definitely aren't funny. He tells lies, agreeing with everything Devin says and telling Cecelia she's the only girl who does it for him.

All the while, Dylan feels nothing.

* * *

**Temporary Insanity © Alexz Johnson**


	11. Delicate

**Temporary Insanity**

**Chapter Eleven: Delicate **

"Dude, get your hands off of me…"

"North, this is for your own good. Sweetie, when Bitchface finds out she's pregnant you'll be thanking me for pulling you away," the sixteen-year-old girl keeps one stern hand on Dylan's shoulder as she pushes her way out of the crowded house party. She sighs with relief when the two finally make their way outside. "You wanna tell me what you're doing here?"

"I came to see Devin and hookup with Cecelia," Dylan honestly responds. His fingers are loosely looped through the key ring that holds the keys to William's SUV. An expression of amusement stretched across his face as he begins to jingle the linked metal objects.

"It's been forever since I've heard you say that," the girl frowns and looks at the boy with pity written across her face. "I thought that sister of yours snapped some sense into your thick skull and you were done with the partying scene?"

"She tried. She failed. I'm back," Dylan grins and stretches his hands up to the sky. His happy-go-lucky expression turns to one of curiosity as he looks her up and down. "What are you doing here? I thought you were too good to party with us normal kids?"

"Yeah, well, you know how I love it when Devin, that idiotic brother of mine, throws parties at our house and doesn't tell me beforehand," Brooke Ferris mutters sarcastically while racking her fingers through her chestnut locks of shoulder length hair. The shiny tresses are parted on the left side of her head which causes her bangs to fall diagonal across her forehead. "I tried to go in there and pretend I didn't change, but it's all bullshit."

"My name's Brooke Ferris," Dylan imitates in a high-pitch girly voice. "I use to be a major cheerleader party girl, getting wasted, famous for my table dancing routines. Then I went to counseling, learned to express my feelings through catchy little pop songs and got a record deal, happily ever after. The end…"

"My name's Dylan North," Brooke starts with an evil glint in her eyes. "I think I'm the shit with my pretty electric guitar, emo haircut and whoa, C+ in Algebra II! I just might not have to go to summer school next year. Oh yeah, damn, forgot about that F in English. I'm skinny as hell and wear tight clothes to show off all my skinniness and make all the girls drool…give me a break."

"It's nice to see you haven't lost your sparkling personality," Dylan says with a smirk, more entertained than offended. He lifts the rim of the bottle of beer to his mouth till the last drop of liquor taints his lips. His actions cause Brooke to raise a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"You know that if you do win that Battle of the Bands we're going on tour together, right? If you're gonna get drunk and possibly high after every show…it's going to be a _long_ summer," Brooke replies matter-of-factly as she pulls her cell phone from the pocket of her fitted black leather jacket.

"I had like…three beers and some weird fizzy _thing_ Rodge made me drink," Dylan admits while pushing his brown bangs away from his eyes. "I'm hardly buzzed."

Dylan had a strange and bad reaction to the liquor he swiped from Mrs. Munion and it happened again with Rodge's offering. Dylan simply swallowed the liquor and ignored the nausea. Once he got into it, got lost in the music and grinned like an idiot, he was completely fine and spent a good half an hour making out with Cecelia on the couch. That was before the usually MIA Brooke Ferris walked in and forcefully dragged him away.

"I'm still calling William…"

"Calling your ex-boyfriend while wearing your current boyfriend's jacket?" Dylan asks with a raised eyebrow as he leaned heavily against William's SUV for support. "Not your smartest idea, Ferret…"

"FYI, this is _my_ jacket and my name is _Ferris_. A ferret is a little mammal thing," Brooke replies with a shiver, not much of a fan of the rodent family. Dylan shuts his eyes and slowly slides down the grill of the SUV and into his sitting position on the gravel driveway. "Damn it, the one time I really need Will and he doesn't answer. Oh well, I guess I'll just call Phoebe to come get your ass."

"NO!" Dylan practically yells with eyes that snap open so suddenly. Brooke's startled for a moment before she presses her finger against the green button on her cell phone. Dylan struggles to his feet and grasps onto Brooke's shoulder to keep him from falling on his face. With his other hand he takes her phone and snaps it closed. "She's already…upset and probably doesn't want to come get my ass at the moment."

"Fighting, huh?" Brooke asks as she pried her phone from his sweaty hands and stuffs it into the back pocket of the dark jeans she's wearing. "Phoebe and you are practically conjoined at the hip. What would make her that upset?"

"Good question," Dylan mumbles under his breath as he racks his brain for a good lie to tell Brooke. "Creative differences…she's totally obsessed over this Battle of the Bands thing and I can't write with her. I said a few things, she got mad and I left."

"Ah, the drama that comes with being in a band," Brooke smiles fondly and stares up at the bright stars glistening in the dark night's sky. She smiles over at Dylan, mischief shinning in her hazel eyes. "So how are Hunt and Rodge?"

"Hunt's got football," Dylan says and takes a quick look around the dark driveway packed with cars and tipsy teenagers. "Everyone seems happy so I'm assuming they won the state championship. You saw Rodge inside, passed out on the living room table and, uh, Silver thinks he's cheating on her."

"Wow, only now she's catching on?" Brooke giggles. "Poor S."

"Same old, same old," Dylan shrugs though his face is anything but content. "We're falling apart, B."

"You wanna get out of here?" Brooke proposes so suddenly that Dylan has to pause and think about what she's just said. She's staring back at her house where dozens of strangers are drinking cheap booze and trashing the place.

"Where did you have in mind?" Dylan asks warily. Brooke throws her leather guitar case into the back of William's SUV and slams the door shut. She steals the keys from between Dylan's fingers and slides in behind the wheel. Dylan's rather annoyed that she left his question unanswered, but follows her, his arms falling at his sides, holding an unopened beer.

After twenty minutes of driving down dark, Connecticut coastline, Dylan's scared shitless.

"The person who taught you how to drive should go to jail for a _long_ time…"

"Shut up, North," Brooke orders as she kept one hand rested on the steering wheel and the other draped halfway out the window. She pulls up in front of an old church with windows boarded up and graffiti covering the rotting wood. "We're here. Are you sober enough for a little walk?"

"Must I remind you that I only had a couple beers," Dylan asks and tugs the door handle, pushing it open and escaping into the night. He drags his feet towards the little chapel with Brooke at his side. She pulls open the squeaky door and Dylan walks right in, a bit reluctant yet intrigued. "What is this place?"

"This is where I come when creative differences get a little too much for me," Brooke answers, leaving her guitar case across a pew. The only light filtering in through the crumbling roof of the abandoned church is supplied by the moon. "Silver and I used to play in here all the time when we were little. It's also where I wrote my first single."

"While your producer and backup musicians fed goddess Brooke grapes straight from the vine," Dylan teases with a chuckle and sits down on a pew, hoping his weight won't break it. Ignoring his comment, Brooke pulls a silver lighter from her back pocket and lights the few candles that surround what was once an alter.

"My producer has a name, you know. It's Nate," Brooke informs Dylan who couldn't care less. "We look incredibly hot together and he _gets me_. I don't know what everyone's problem is."

"You two are really going out?" Dylan gasps, his eyes widening with disbelief. Brooke simply scoffs and unpacks her guitar; violently strum her hot pink pick against the strings of the acoustic beauty. "I mean…I was just teasing."

"It's supposed to be a secret," Brooke shushes him, rolling her eyes. "I mean, he's twenty-three and I'm sixteen. We've been to dinner once or twice. The tabloids caught on pretty quick, but no one believes them anyways. I'm just a local teenage artist. No one's taking me seriously yet. I don't know why he's so shaken up about it."

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

Her shoulders go up in a shrug and the corners of her lips pull back in one of the sweetest smile he's ever seen. Brooke sighs, "I've been so busy working on the album and promoting the album and fighting with my family that I don't really have any friends."

"You've got me," he reassures her with a grin. "You've got me and the twins and Silver."

"We haven't talked since…last summer," Brooke sighs, nervously picking at her candy apple red fingernails. "Listen, I'm sorry for dumping all of that on you, Dylan. It's just…I've been keeping it all in for so long the second I saw a familiar face, I just…well, told you."

"Brooke, it's cool," Dylan nods as he undoes the top of his beer bottle and takes a long sip. "I kinda get what you're saying…I think. It's like, if you love each other then that's all that should matter. There shouldn't be stupid rules and stupid laws to keep you apart. Why can't they just let us be?"

"Whoa, North, you got all deep on me there for a second," Brooke says teasingly as she glances up at him before refocusing back on her guitar. "You got some secret undiscovered lover I don't know about?"

"Believe me, if I did, you'd be the first…or second to know," Dylan says with a little laugh. He considers telling Brooke about Phoebe and him, but shakes the thought from his head. "So is Nate worth leaving William?"

Brooke wears a pensive expression while Dylan thinks back to a time when William Beardsley and Brooke Ferris were voted Campus Cutest Couple. He's the tall, dark and handsome school president and she's the hot, coveted captain of the cheerleading squad. She's known the Norths since they moved to New London and started dating William a couple months after Frank and Helen's wedding.

Brooke jokingly entered a singing contest once and a producer heard her sing, instantly offering the teenage girl a record deal. From then she left New London High, dedicating most of her time to working on her album, though she does have a private tutor helping her work towards her GED. Now it seems she's apparently too busy to have friends, canceling every time they call to try and hang out. Dylan's actually surprised he ran into her tonight.

"Is Silver cheating on Rodge with _you_?"

"So out of left field, Ferret," Dylan laughs, amused by such a ridiculous idea. "And you couldn't be more wrong. Now answer the question."

"God, stop calling me that," Brooke pouts, though secretly likes stupid nicknames. "Well, Nate wasn't even in the picture when William and I were together. With Will, he just…we weren't right for each other. He was just so…clingy, you know? He was so afraid to lose me that he held on so tight and I guess it ended up pushing me away in the end."

Dylan nods, again not understanding how one can fall out of love so easily. "Tell me about this Nate…"

"I can't stand him." Brooke says this and Dylan can see that sparkle in her eye. He knows he's never seen that with Silver and Rodge and wonders if he looks that way when he talks about Phoebe. "He's a jackass, but once you get past his defenses he's as harmless as a puppy. God, he's a genius with music. He can take lyrics I just scribble onto a cigarette box and make it something beautiful. Nate gets me like no one else and when he holds me I feel…alive."

"That's great for you, Ferris," Dylan says with a faint smile, slightly envious. "Wow, you certainly stepped up from Miss Head Cheerleader to Pop Princess with a record deal and finding love…or something close to it."

"Forbidden love," Brooke corrects, her voice containing a sad undertone. "It's the hardest kind, you know, being forever frowned down upon by society and all. If anyone found out, he could be accused of pedophilia and go to jail. I mean, we never did anything besides make out, but still−"

"I think I'm in love with Phoebe…"

Silence…

Silence…

Silence…

Mid-rant, Brooke forgets every word, her face instantly going blank before twisting into a quizzical expression, her head tilted slightly to the side. Dylan stares down at his sneakers, his knee bouncing up and down in a violent fidget. He looks so nervous. Dylan has no idea why he chose that moment to share his true dirty little secret. Hearing her tell him about her situation with Nate must have triggered something within him, probing him to share a little in return. The truth is, they could probably relate, being in similar situations and all.

"Wow, we have more in common than I thought. We're both screwed over by love," Brooke says with a small smile as she leans her guitar against a pew and snakes the beer bottle from Dylan's hand. She takes a gulp of the warm liquor and sighs loudly. "Wow…"

"You said that already," Dylan reminds her.

"Well, it's not everyday you find out Dylan North wants to nail his sister," Brooke smirks wickedly and Dylan to glares, standing as if he's going to storm out. Broke chuckles and grabs onto his sleeve, forcing him sit back down. "Oh, so you can tease me about the leather jacket and the grapes, but one little comment from me and you go all emo?"

"You have not seen me emo, Ferris," Dylan warns as he reaches over to reclaim his beer bottle. Brooke sends him a devilish grin and pulls the bottle just out of his grasp. "I need it more…"

"Actually, you know, it's kinda hot," Brooke praises with her famous smile, adorable dimples going into full effect. Dylan simply shakes his head and downs the rest of the beer. "What? Phoebe and you together doesn't seem so farfetched to me. You two always seemed _closer_ than most siblings. I mean, you're adopted so I say go get her, Tiger."

"Too bad she already made it clear that she doesn't want a relationship," Dylan frowns, the empty bottle falling from his grasp and hitting the concrete floor. He gingerly takes Brooke's guitar into his hands and strums his bare fingers against the strings. "It's incestuous apparently…"

"Well, it's gonna take some time, Dyl, take things slow. I mean, it isn't going to be like your string of groupies or even that god-awful three months you spent kissing Cecelia's ass. It's delicate," Brooke tells him, probably the most honest advice he has ever gotten. "Am I really the first to know?"

"Sorry, Ferris, that cherry has been popped by the one and only Cheerleader Christina Beardsley," Dylan replies, Brooke's facial features twisting into a pout. "She kinda walked in while Phoebe and I were…um…having a moment."

"Poor Tina," Brooke mutters, amusement written across her pretty face. "Like a half-clothed moment or a fully naked one?"

"Dude!" Dylan shouts, the music abruptly stopping, leaving the two teenagers in complete silence. "Not that it's any of your business, but we were just kissing-borderline making out and Christina walked in and God, why do I tell you anything?"

"You're a victim of my irresistible charm," Brooke replied before she yanked her guitar away from the scruffy boy. "The whole forbidden love thing, I seem to associate it with this song…"

It starts out soft and slow, much different from the pop hits Brooke usually spews.

_We might kiss when we are alone  
When nobody's watching  
We might take it home  
We might make out when nobody's there  
It's not that we're scared  
It's just that it's delicate_

As Brooke sings and delicately stroked the strings of her acoustic guitar, Dylan sits back and listens to the lyrics. Brooke seems so focused with eyes closed, listening to the sound of her own angelic voice.

_So why do you fill my sorrow  
With the words you've borrowed  
From the only place you've known  
And why do you sing Hallelujah  
If it means nothing to you  
Why do you sing with me at all?_

Dylan understands. In a way the song slightly defines his relationship (if you could call it that) with Phoebe. The expression on Brooke's face as she sings is so tragic and damn heartbreaking. He knew how she feels. They're two musical souls who were screwed over by love.

"Nate reminds me all the time that despite him having to remain professional in public, he does care and we aren't just doing all of this for nothing," she smiles gently to herself.

"Lucky you," Dylan chokes out and looks away. It seems that Brooke and Nate have their whole relationship worked out. The only thing standing in the way of them being together is the age difference and the conflict of interest, seeing as they're working together.

"It's time to get home, North," Brooke mumbles, giving him a pat on the back before she goes to pack up her guitar. Dylan walks out towards the SUV while Brooke lingers for a moment in the chapel. She's chattering on her cell phone and Dylan lies out across the hood of William's SUV, staring at the sky and the pale moon that seems brighter than most nights.

Does he really have the courage to fight for them? More importantly, what about Phoebe, does she? Are they really willing to fight for this? That's the only way things are going to work out.

The ride to the lighthouse is a silent and rather bumpy one. Dylan pretends to sleep, his head leaning back against the headrest. It's past his curfew, two o'clock in the morning to be exact. Brooke carefully drives up the hill with her headlights off, something they've done tons of times in the past.

"Northy, wakey wakey, sleepyhead," Brooke sings as if she's talking to a little child. He doesn't react to her sweet voice so instead, she sticking out her index finger and roughly poking Dylan in the belly. He groans and shifts, eyes fluttering open. "We're here."

"How are you getting home?" Dylan asks groggily. Brooke sits, contemplating his question. She hasn't thought out that far in advance. "Come inside. You can crash on the couch."

"Yeah, that'll be fun," Brooke says sarcastically though Brooke's sarcastic sounds like enthusiasm. "Then I can wake up, smelling like smoke and alcohol and sit at the breakfast table with the General and your other seventeen siblings. Oh yeah, don't forget that one of those siblings is my ex-boyfriend and the other is your secret undercover lover!"

"He's actually an Admiral," Dylan corrects with a smartass smile and Brooke presses her lips into a pout. "Brooke, I don't have time for this. Just stay in the basement. No one goes down there besides Phoebe and me. Then tomorrow morning I can bring you home because I'm sure as hell not going to school."

"Yeah, I heard about the fight," Brooke nods. "It's all everyone talks about on Facebook."

"Thanks B," Dylan sneers, grumpily jumping out of the car.

"If we get into trouble your head's so on the chopping block," Brooke warns him, already pointing an accusing finger. The two abandon William's SUV and walk around the house, the moon shedding light on the dirt path. Dylan easily twists the doorknob of the back door to the basement and pushes it open.

"You seem to know the path pretty well. What, are you used to bringing home young and impressionable girls through the backdoor, Dyl?" Brooke asks teasingly causing Dylan to laugh aloud.

"Only ones named Brooke Ferris," Dylan replies with a chuckle. Brooke glares and shoves him playfully from behind causing the two to stumble in through the door. There they're greeted by a distraught Phoebe and a shocked Christina.

"Hi guys," Brooke greets cheerfully, awkwardly waving at her two friends sitting there with confused expressions. "Wow, you sure do stay up late at the North-Beardsley's…"

"Yeah, because I was worried and waiting for Dylan to come home," Phoebe admits which caused Brooke to smile. She's about to comment how Phoebe's concern for Dylan is cute, but is cutoff. "But it looks like I was just wasting my time."

"What, are you jealous, Pheebs?" Dylan jumps in, his hand slithering across Brooke's hips.

"Whoa, Romeo," Brooke says quickly in her trademark husky voice. She quickly pulls away from Dylan and notices he isn't even looking at her. His full attention is on Phoebe. "Don't bring me into this already tangled web."

"I can't believe you told her!"

"According to you, there was nothing to tell her about anyways!" Dylan shouts back with utter frustration, throwing his hands up in the air. "I don't get you, Phoebe. You don't want me, but you freak out when you see me hanging out with Brooke? I don't have time to do this dance with you. I'm getting tired of it."

"I'm confused, Dylan!" Phoebe defenses herself. "I can't live in impulse like you do. I can't just do things without thinking about the consequences first. I need to think before I act."

"What are you trying to say?" Dylan asks, offended. He's walking closer towards Phoebe who stands her ground. He never expects anything less.

"You're drunk," Phoebe observes, close enough to smell the putrid stench on him. "I can't deal with you when you're like this. We'll talk later."

"Whatever," Dylan mutters carelessly. Phoebe shakes her head and runs up the basement stairs, probably to her room. Christina looks helplessly between Brooke and Dylan before chasing after Phoebe. Dylan collapses on the couch with his head in his hands and Brooke frowns beside him, squeezing his shoulder in a comforting manner.

They say nothing. There's nothing left to say.

* * *

**Delicate © Damien Rice**


	12. Happy but Not Really

**Temporary Insanity **

**Chapter twelve: Happy but Not Really**

_We both lie still  
In the dead of the night  
Although we both lie close together  
We feel miles apart inside_

Brooke doesn't know where she is exactly.

The room is cold and her knees are curled to her chest. She shifts slightly and almost falls from her rather uncomfortable position. Groaning, the brunette somehow finds the strength to sit up and attempts to blink the sleepy fog from her eyes. Once her vision clears and focuses, she's rather startled, meeting a set of slanted eyes staring back at her.

"I like your leather jacket."

"Um, thanks, honey. One of my fans gave it to me," Brooke smiles despite her voice that comes out raspier than she anticipated. She feels a tad bit awkward in front of the young boy when she looks down at her white tank top that's practically transparent, the hot pink bra beneath and her tight skinny jeans with her pierced naval exposed.

"It sucks that a cow died for it," a voice scowls from across the room. Both heads turn to see Phoebe round the couch with her arms folded. It seems like sleep hasn't changed Phoebe's mood. A nervous Christina is standing further back like a scared little girl about to witness a cage fight.

"Lao, sweetie," Christina acknowledges the youngster, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you go to breakfast? Tell everyone that Phoebe and I are…um…working on something."

"Bye cutie," Brooke grins and folds one leg over the other. After waving at the outsider, Lou retreats upstairs and Brooke fights the urge to hug him tight like a little stuffed animal. She feels a Brangelina joke in her head but keeps it to herself, noticing Phoebe's unwavering, stiff demeanor.

"So Little Asian Boy…he isn't going tell anyone I was here, right?" Brooke asks casually, combing her fingers through her hair. "Because I was thinking about discretely slipping out the back−"

"No point," Phoebe quickly interrupts. "The whole house already knows you're here. Poor William came down here to grab a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator. Wow was he surprised to see his ex asleep on the basement couch."

"No one comes down here my ass," Brooke murmurs quite angrily and louder than she anticipated. "I'm going to kill Dylan." The brunette simply groans and reaches down for the leather boots that are carelessly lying on the floor. "I think I'll be going. Hopefully the, ugh, walk home will clear my head."

"Nate's called seven times this morning. I'm surprised you slept through the Lady Gaga ringer," Phoebe says with such a blasé tone while she flips the phone open and begins pressing buttons. Brooke's usually pretty face scrunches into a glare as she watches Phoebe touch what isn't hers. "Is he your boyfriend?"

"Yeah, kinda like how Dylan's your boyfriend, right, Pheebs?" Brooke defensively remarks. Phoebe snaps the phone closed and glares at Brooke's smirking face, cursing those damn dimples.

"Phoebe, Brooke," Christina mediates, trying to prevent a catfight so early in the morning. "The school bus is going to be here in—"

"You shouldn't talk about things that are none of your business, Ferris," Phoebe forewarns, completely ignoring Christina's interruption. Brooke doesn't seem to be intimidated one bit.

"You started it by bringing up Nate," Brooke points out with a pout. Silence follows and Brooke decides to swallow her pride. She knows Phoebe won't. "Yes, Nate is my boyfriend. He's twenty-three which means, yes, he's seven years older than me…and he's my producer. It's a conflict of interest and not to mention completely illegal."

The confession is followed by silence.

"And you know what, I don't give a damn and I'm tired of hiding it like it's something to be ashamed of," Brooke goes on. It's as if both Phoebe and Christina disappeared and Brooke's thinking aloud. "He's sweet and mature and he cares about me. I love him and everyone else can suck it."

"Wow," Phoebe gasps, completely taken aback. She's expecting a love confession for Dylan, not an older man, let alone her producer. Without thinking, Phoebe holds out her hand, allowing Brooke to reclaim her sacred device.

"That's exactly what I said when Dylan told me about you two," Brooke laughs and returns to her seat on the couch. She easily sees the discomfort on Phoebe's face and panics for something else to say. "Well, um, now do you get that I'm not interested nor will I ever be in Dylan North?"

"I didn't think…" Phoebe trails off, tangled in her thoughts. "I—I'm sorry, Brooke."

"It's cool. If you're worried that I'll tell anyone, don't be," Brooke tells her effortlessly, easily hiding how deep down she really is intimidated by the oldest North sibling. "We all have our secrets and now you know mine so…yours is safe with me."

"So, not that it's any of my business," Phoebe starts softly. "What happened last night?"

"Long story short, my idiotic brother threw one of his lame parties and I saved Dylan from falling back into that crowd," Brooke nonchalantly recaps. "I babysat him for a while, we talked and then I brought him home and apparently I fell asleep here."

"Do you think it's weird?" Phoebe asks when Brooke is already halfway to the backdoor. Hearing such a foreign tone from Phoebe's usual hard and cold voice, Brooke can't help but look back at the girl who seems ready to break. "I mean, honestly, Brooke…it…it's not right."

"I think it's more of an opinion or a state of mind. I mean, there are tons of things in the world today that are weird and, um, aren't right, but that doesn't stop them from happening," Brooke thoughtfully explains. "I'll tell you what I told Dylan…I think it's kinda hot."

Phoebe laughs and presses her palm to her forehead for a moment. Christina sighs with relief and Brooke throws the two one of her classic, cheeky smiles before once again reaching for the doorknob.

"We told Frank and mom you came over early this morning because you needed a second opinion on a song you're working on. You know, my mom will never forgive you if you leave without even bothering to say hi," Phoebe cautions Brooke who turns around with her signature pout. "Plus, I'm betting the kids are at the top of the steps, waiting to mob you."

"You were always our favorite of William's girlfriends," Christina adds with a giggle.

"Don't tell him, but the one time I hesitated about breaking up with Will was because I'd miss hanging out with the family too much," Brooke giggles at her own ridiculousness before walking back towards Phoebe. "I told Dylan to…take things slow like _way_ slow and if you realize that you really do love each other then…screw everyone else."

Phoebe smiles softly, "Best advice _ever_."

"PHOEBE, CHRISTINA, YOUR BUS JUST LEFT!" Helen's voice echoes throughout the house. "Frank just left for work and I have a meeting so I have to run. Dylan's staying home from school again and you two better hurry before you're late!"

"Come on." Christina urgently ushers the two other girls to the stairs. Phoebe and Christina scramble, remembering last minutes things and forgetting where they had left their bags. Brooke follows at a slower pace, trying to think of a way to sneak out without another word. Imagine her surprise when she reaches the top and William is standing there, waiting.

Brooke knows her mistake and regrets it the moment it happens. She looks into his eyes. If his family is number one on the list of things she misses about William Beardsley, then his incredibly smoldering milk chocolate orbs is a close second. Her eyes travel down to outline his broad shoulders and then the hard contours of his chiseled chest. Damn that ROTC uniform. That's third.

"Hey," he mutters softly, almost shyly. Brooke's pearly white teeth plunge deep into the flesh of her bottom lip without her knowing. William seems to pick up on the action, knowing it as one of Brooke's obvious signs of discomfort. He respectfully takes a step back and she isn't surprised. If William Beardsley is anything, he's a gentleman and knows her all too well.

"Hey," she soon mimics, not knowing what else to say. There's a thick tension in the air and Brooke hates it. She doesn't know what to say. She hurt him and seeing him hurt in turn hurt her.

"I, um, I'm driving to school," William says rather awkwardly, motioning to the car keys in his hands. "If you need a ride somewhere…"

"Oh, um, no thank you. It's fine. I can get someone to pick me up," Brooke politely responds. Disappointment flickers across his face and Brooke can feel her chest tighten at the sight. She plasters on her infamous smile. "So I heard you got into Harvard. That's so incredible, William! See and you worried for nothing."

"Yeah," he smiles, quite proud of himself. "What about you? How've you been?"

"My first album's almost done and I'm touring this summer," Brooke mentions, ignoring the thought of college at all cost. She cringes, remembering how he'd been so pushy when they were together. He'd always talk about college, specifically Juilliard or Berkley Boston, and it didn't help Brooke's phobia of the future.

"Good," he nods and Brooke is sure if she'd been drinking something that she would have choked on it. There's this sincerity in those eyes that have her in a trance. He laughs softly and runs a hand through his short, dark tresses. "As long as you're happy, _Cookie_, I'm happy for you."

Brooke wants to say something but is rendered speechless.

"Cool it, Romeo. It's over. Accept it. We need to go," Christina cuts in, a sad whisper meant only for her brother's ears. Brooke looks away once the corners of William's mouth fall in a frown. Christina throws Brooke a look she doesn't understand, pulling on her brother's sleeve.

Brooke smiles sadly and watches the two walk to the door, whispering, "Goodbye, _Silly_."

Brooke tears her eyes away from the door and begins moving her feet towards the stairs. It's ridiculous to even consider going back in time. William is going to college and she's going on tour. Brooke's sure she would only be holding him back. Plus, she has Nate and she's happy.

"Natie," she says his name with such weakness in her voice, shakily holding her phone to her ear. She sounds like a child and hates it. "Yeah, I spent the night at the lighthouse…yeah…my ex-boyfriend lives here…Nathan! No! I slept on the couch…we talked for like five seconds…Nate, don't do this. I miss you…"

_Was it something I said or something I did  
Did my words not come out right  
Though I tried not to hurt you  
Though I tried  
But I guess that's why they say_

"Can you have your lovers quarrel somewhere I'm not?" Dylan questions rather harshly. Brooke pays no attention to him and enters his room, slamming the door after her. Also dressed in the same clothes from yesterday is Dylan, lying flat on his bed, looking as miserable as ever. He opens his eyes long enough to see Brooke give him a 'what the fuck?' expression and to turn up the dial of his stereo.

_Every rose has its thorn  
Just like every night has its dawn  
Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song  
Every rose has its thorn_

"Its music therapy," Dylan groans as he presses his face deeper into the nearest pillow. He hears Brooke's boots clacking against the wooden floor and can't resist a peek. He spots her across the room, ruffling the sheets of William's bed that had been so perfectly made that a quarter would successfully bounce off the surface.

Dylan can't help but show his amusement, knowing it will drive William insane when he finds his bed sheets all wrinkled and untidy. All Dylan would have to do is give William the name of the girl across the room and all the anger will surely melt away. Even the hard as stone navy brat has a soft spot and it's made for Brooke Ferris.

"Having flashbacks, Ferris?" Dylan mumbles groggily. Brooke brings a picture frame into one hand, her face sad with fingers almost dropping the phone still held to her ear. "You were Brooke and William, the campus cutest couple, the school president and the head cheerleader. I never got the whole Cookie and Silly exchange though."

"You weren't meant to, D. It was our thing," Brooke replies almost coldly. Dylan looks up sharply and finds a bizarre unnamable expression on Brooke's face. To think it all came at the mention of a certain ex-boyfriend. Brooke abandons the photograph and turns to look at Dylan. "Dude, this is like the most depressing song ever."

Dylan groans, being reminded of his own issues. "That's kinda the point, Ferris…"

"No. That's not William. It's just Dylan, Dylan North, broken arm, broken relationship, music therapy," Brooke explains into her cell phone, talking to Nathan once again. Her dry lips form a pout and her shoulders slump. "Aw, Natie, I need a ride. Dylan's arm is broken. Please sweetie."

Dylan hears grumbling and Brooke stomps her foot like a child throwing a tantrum.

"Did I ever tell you that you're the most amazingly sexy man alive?" Brooke bites her lip, twirling a chestnut lock around her finger. "Yeah, I'm kissing ass. Is it working? Good. I'll see you soon, babe."

Dylan sits up just in time to see Brooke shove her phone into her knee length leather boot and then sit at William's desk with her heels propped up against the edge. Her eyes are glazed over, probably lost in on that lonely path they refer to as memory lane.

"Sometimes I wonder why Will and I broke up," she mumbles and Dylan immediately hears what he assumes is regret in her voice. The petite girl laughs bitterly, looking over at Dylan with a forced smile. "I'm sorry, D. Just, when I'm around you I blurt out these things…"

"It's cool," he assures her before nodding to his cast. "You never got to sign it last night."

"It would be my pleasure," the cheerful girl smiles and bounces right over with excitement. Brooke bites on the cap of the hot pink sharpie and pulls it off. Holding the permanent marker in her left hand, Brooke giggles, making sure to shield her message from Dylan's eyes.

"Ditch the sappy songs and go get the girl, Tiger. Heart Brooke," Dylan reads aloud as the brunette keeps a satisfied smile on her face, capping the pen. "Thank you?"

"Like I said, give her some time. You're a great guy," Brooke smiles softly, pinching Dylan's cheek. "And when you two finally hookup we are so going on a big, group date! You know, with Phoebe, you and your incest; Nate, me and our pedophilia; Rodge, Silver, Hunt and their love triangle. We can all go to a concert or something."

"Yeah, that's how I'd define fun, Brooke," Dylan sarcastically agrees before he rethinks her words and his face is pure confusion. "What love triangle?"

Brooke rolls her eyes. "Hunt so loves Silver."

"You're so full of it," Dylan groans. "No. Silver and Rodge are like an old married couple and Hunter's all about football and music and college. He doesn't have time to fall in love."

"North, I grew up with those three," Brooke reminds him. "Hunter always liked Silver first, but Rodge beat him to the punch and asked her out. Why she said yes and keeps taking him back while she's home working on her blog and he's doing body shots off of random sluts at my brother's parties, is beyond me, but it is what it is."

"I don't believe that," Dylan says heatedly. "Well, not the part about Hunt liking Silver because we both saw him doing those body shots last night…No, B. Hello, you're the girl who accused Silver of cheating on Rodge with me. How wrong were you?"

"Well, duh, who would guess you're hopelessly in love with your sister?" Brooke asks loudly and Dylan wears a menacing glare. Brooke puts her hands up, her face angelic and pouting. "Sorry, but I know what I'm talking about. Years from now at Silver and Hunter's wedding, you're so buying me a drink."

Dylan smirks. "You're on."

A knock on the door interrupts the conversation and gets the attention of the two. Brooke smiles as she glances between Phoebe who's standing at the door and Dylan who's lazily sitting on his bed. Brooke's grin widens before she frantically tap her finger against her message on Dylan's cast. In return he rolls his eyes and pulls away from her.

"I'll, um, go wait for Nate downstairs," Brooke excuses herself a bit too excitedly. As she walks to the door she pushes the 'stop' button on the stereo and removes the CD. After shooting the two North kids a grin and a wink, Brooke drops the CD into the trashcan and leaves the room.

"It's nice to see that the fame didn't turn her into a total diva snob." Phoebe tries to make small talk as she ventures into the familiar room and sits on the edge of his bed. "Since when have you and Brooke Ferris been bestest friends?"

"Since you stopped being my bestest friend," Dylan replies spitefully. He leans back into his pillow, trying to find a comfortable position. He plans on spending the whole day lounging around in bed anyways. "Plus she knows how it feels to be screwed over by love."

"Yeah, she told me about her producer," Phoebe explains, nervously tangling her fingers. "I mean, if we get caught…dating we'd probably just get grounded and separated, but if they got caught…it's a scary thought."

"She's brave though, isn't she?" Dylan asks as he throws his legs over the side of the bed and walks over to the window. "It's impressive. Ferris is willing to put it all on the line for love."

"I don't know if I can be that brave, Dylan," Phoebe confesses her fears as she slowly comes up behind him. "But I will tell you that I hated myself for lying to you, lying to myself. As wrong as it may be, I want to be with you, Dylan, but—"

"But it's too weird, right?"

"Brooke can relate so of course she encourages it, but what about the rest of the kids at school, the band? What about mom and Frank?" Phoebe allows her fears to surface, the concern evident in her pretty eyes. Dylan takes her hand in his, their eyes never disconnecting.

"Who cares?" Dylan whispers huskily. "All that matters is you and me."

"What about next year?" Phoebe asks frantically. "I'm going off to college."

"NYU's only a drive away," Dylan replies quickly. It seems as if he put a lot of thought into this. That's how badly he wants this. He wants her. "We can make this…_us_ work."

"I'm scared," Phoebe admits, so small, so soft.

Dylan whispers a laugh. "So am I, but I'm willing to chance it if you are."

"I'm tired of fighting," she says, looking directly into his eyes.

Dylan reaches forward, guiding loose, brown tresses behind her ear. "Then don't."

Phoebe smiles sincerely, almost mischievously and forcefully grabs onto the collar of his shirt. Dylan smiles himself and raises an eyebrow, just daring her to push the envelope. Phoebe leans towards Dylan, her lips crashing against his in one of the most lip bruising kisses either has ever had.

His lips graze hers, setting the moist, sensitive skin ablaze with unadulterated passion. His tongue probes at her lips, begging for entrance to her mouth, a plea that's answered almost too willingly. A struggle for dominance commences once his searing tongue searches every crevice of her oral cavity. Hearing a horn honking, Phoebe pulls away and gasps for air, ending the kiss that's anything but chaste.

"Damn it William…"

"It's not his fault," Phoebe argues breathlessly, pressing her forehead to his, attempting to mentally will her racing heart to reduce speed. "I, ugh, I'm going to be late for school."

"But I'm worth it, right?" Dylan asks with cocky smirk drawn across his handsome face. He traces her jaw with his index finger, trying to physically memorize every single detail about her.

"Every second," Phoebe replies. She gives him a gentle kiss on the cheek before reluctantly tearing away from his hold and walking towards the door. Before completely disappearing, Phoebe steals one last glance at him. "Oh, and Dylan, you might want to shower and change. The same outfit for two days in a row…not a turn on."

"I'll be sure to look into that," Dylan calls coolly and watches Phoebe completely disappear down the stairs. He grins happily to himself and falls back against his bed. If he was a girl, Dylan would have been jumping around and squealing. Instead, he grabs his towel and stalks off to take a shower.

"This is a gift from God," Brooke muses aloud before stuffs her mouth with a piece of her fresh, fluffy homemade waffle bathed in whipped cream and strawberries. She smiles happily and uttered a rather orgasmic sound just as Dylan comes into the kitchen, shaking his head like a dog that has just emerged from the water. "Kudos to Mrs. Munion…"

"There was food left from breakfast?" Dylan asks, rather astonished. He sees Brooke shake her head in a no. Shrugging, he takes a seat beside the pretty brunette at the large dinning table. It feels strange, two people occupying a table for twenty. "She cooked for you?"

"Yup," Brooke grins, always so cheery. "All it took was an autograph."

"Impressive," Dylan smiles a rather bright smile. He takes Brooke's fork from her fingers and cuts into her mouthwatering waffle. With a glare, Brooke smacks Dylan on the shoulder and reclaims her fork. "Is she still home?"

"Nope," Brooke answers. "She had a few errands to do downtown and quit with the unnecessary questions, North. Tell me already! Are you and Phoebe all good or what? I didn't sit through more awkward conversation with William while Phoebe and you had a little alone time upstairs for nothing."

"Like talking to William was so horrible," Dylan sarcastically quips. "And to answer your question, yes, your advice came in handy. We're taking things slow. I'm still trying to figure it out myself."

"Cool."

"Did you tell William about your new boyfriend?" Dylan asks curiously. He stands and walks over to the refrigerator, pulling out a gallon of orange juice and searching for a clean cup.

"Let me think…no. Everything I've told you Norths and Christina about Nate isn't public knowledge. If any of this gets out to the press, I know who I'm going after first." Dylan sips his orange juice before sitting back down. She looks him up and down, smiling with acceptance. "It's nice to see you showered. You clean up nice, North."

"Thanks," Dylan says, running his hand over his shirt, smoothing the creases. He looks over at Brooke who's still clad in leather and grinning like an excited child. "Sorry I can't say the same thing about you."

Brooke smiles, waving her fork, "I'm so hot I could roll in dirt, pass on showering and eat nothing but garlic for weeks, even months and guys would still want to fuck me senseless."

"You are so weird," Dylan laughs. He'd die if he ever vocalized it but she's probably right. Brooke Ferris is hot and coveted. It's simply a universal truth. "What are you still doing here anyways?"

"Nate's on his way," Brooke replies between bites. "He's taking me into the studio because he has a meeting and I have no life. You want to come along? You could be my buddy for the day. Plus, if you win the battle of the bands and get signed, J&J Sounds is going to be your second home."

"Sounds cool," Dylan shrug. "It's not like there's anything to do around here. There is the whole issue that I'm supposed to be grounded, but−"

"We'll get you back on time," Brooke promises with an affirmative nod. Dylan agrees and Brooke looks even more excited than before. "So Dylan, I've never worn a cast before, let alone, broken my arm. I have a tiny little question…how do you shower with it on?"

"Brooke!" a loud, manly voice interrupts. Brooke immediately forgets about her waffles and even her awkward question. Her fork hits the plate and she practically sprints to the door. Dylan follows at a slower pace and eyes the man he assumes is Nate.

He's tall and lanky with broad shoulders and legs that simply go on forever. He's dressed elegantly in a pinstriped button-up shirt, the material clinging tightly to his rather large biceps and tight abs. He has short dark hair and the brightest, most hypnotic navy blue eyes Dylan has ever seen. He stands back and watches Brooke encircle the man's neck in a hug, a hug he returns with a deep, masculine laugh.

Nate soon catches Dylan staring and their eyes meet. Dylan never knew a single look could leave him feeling so powerless. He averts his eyes, choosing to stare at Brooke instead. She's gazing lovingly at her boyfriend though Nate gently pushes her away, looking between his girlfriend and their one man audience.

"Don't worry. He knows," Brooke whispers and the teens stand by as Nate's face flashes anger. Brooke bats her long, dark eyelashes and gives him an innocent smile. "Nate, shhh, that's Dylan North, the boy who's secretly dating his sister..."

"Nice going, Ferret," Dylan hisses while shuffling closer towards the couple. Nathan's eyes grow even wider if that's humanly possible. "So I'm guessing you're the new boyfriend and just to let you know, I'm adopted. She isn't my blood sister."

"It's cool," Nate replies, his voice so smooth. "I'm not here to judge, just to pickup Brooke."

"Take her," Dylan says immediately. "Dude, I don't get how you deal with _that_ every day."

"Dude, seriously, it's even a mystery to me," Nate smiles, his eyes now soft and not as piercing or menacing. The two young men share a laugh while Brooke glares, alternating between the two.

"Nate, can D hang with us today?"

"I don't see why not," Nate replies with the shrug of his shoulders. "I've got meetings all day and maybe Dylan can distract you from being a pain in the ass and bothering me every five seconds."

"Sweet," Brooke grins, easily disregarding the teasing insult. "You know you love me."

"Just let me grab my wallet upstairs," Dylan instructs and the two agree with their arms all intertwined as they sneak each other smiles. Walking up the stairs of the lighthouse, Dylan decides that Nate seems like a cool guy and he obviously makes Brooke happy. They seem like a good fit.

He quickly runs upstairs and into his room. He grabs his wallet and stuffs it into his back pocket. Before running downstairs, Dylan takes a quick look around the room, trying to think of anything else he might need. That's when something across the room catches his eye. He stumbles forward and blinks a few times, not trusting his eyes. The sight makes his stomach churn and his lips press into a tight, uncertain line.

It's the frame Brooke had been holding earlier. The picture's missing.

* * *

**Every Rose has its Thorns © Poison**


	13. To Yourself

**IMPORTANT: **Okay, I know it's been forever, but I just **completely redid this story** now that I have time this summer. I rewrote what didn't work, changed the tense and added scenes and characters, so if you have any interest in this story at all, it's a smart decision to go back and re-read it from the beginning. If not, this chapter will **not** make any sense at all.

Thank you.

* * *

**Temporary Insanity**

**Chapter Thirteen: To Yourself **

Phoebe North is chipper and everyone notices.

It feels great to go through a day without any nail biting, fidgeting and getting lost in anxious thoughts every few minutes. She's still anxious though it's more exciting now that she knows where she stands with Dylan. She might have no idea what's going on, but she likes it. She likes Dylan and that's all that seems to matter. Phoebe feels as if a heavy weight has been lifted from her shoulders and she loves this new feel of freedom.

New London High School is simply buzzing with post-football game excitement. Everyone with an ounce of school spirit in them is wearing the school colors and wide grins. After all, New London is the new football state champions thanks to an amazing tie-breaking touchdown pass delivered by the one and only Hunter Montgomery.

Attempting to avoid the after school parade in the main administration building, Phoebe travels a path less taken around the back, heading to the performing arts building where her locker is located. It's practically empty this time of day besides the occasional chain smokers and horny couples looking for a little face time away from the public.

Her green high-tops squeak against the wet concrete as she leisurely walks through the alley, the walls stained with spray paint, one or two she recognizes as Dylan's. She notices how he likes shades of hot pink and navy blue, sunshine yellow and forest green. He's so fucking talented that it's indescribable. It's hard to believe he hasn't taken an art class in his life.

Phoebe isn't exactly jumping at the idea of calling herself his girlfriend because she really doesn't know how appropriate that is or how Dylan will react. All she knows is that she's traded in fighting for kissing and glaring for smiling. She's content in the direction they're heading and she feels foolish for denying something so beautiful for so long.

"Looks like we meet again, love…"

"Newsflash, Jason, you aren't British," Phoebe says coldly and keeps walking. It's annoying how her ex-boyfriend always seems to pop up in the worst moments. "What are you doing here? I thought you were suspended for the rest of the week?"

"I am," he nods, almost proud of the fact that he got tossed out for fighting. "I just came to pick up books and shit. Not graduating because I forgot to do a little homework would be a bitch, eh?"

Phoebe ignores him and begins walking faster down the alley, hugging her binder tight to her chest. Grunting irritably, Jason matches her speed, fingering the cigarette once resting behind his ear. She refuses to talk to him like everything that happened between them never went down. He cheated on her multiple times with multiple girls and not to mention what he did to Dylan.

"Aw, Bee, you're not still mad, are you?" Jason asks and Phoebe scowls at such a ridiculous question. She's downright pissed off. "Aww, c'mon, your scrawny little brother threw the first punch. It ain't my fault that he's a stupid ass punk who thinks he's tough."

"Of course it's your fault," Phoebe hisses, suddenly turning to him, unafraid to get up in Jason's face. "You could practice some self-control, Jason. You were harassing me. He was defending me. You could have walked away, but no! You sent him to the hospital!"

Jason chuckles. "You should tell little boy Dylan to drink some milk. He's like a little girl with Brittle Bone Disease."

Phoebe glares. "You aren't funny."

"God, you're so fucking hot when you're pissed off at me," Jason whispers gruffly, grabbing her firmly and presses her hard up against a brick wall of graffiti. Phoebe flails and fights him, snarling like an angry, wild animal. If anything, Jason finds it attractive, grinding his body against hers.

"Let go of me, you disgusting son of a bitch!"

"Heh, you know I love it when you talk dirty to me," he continues, disregarding her words entirely. Jason looks her up and down, licking his dry lips. "Now we've been broken up for way too long. I played your little game, Phoebe, but I gotta admit it's getting old. How about we skip the whole resisting part and get straight to the making up?"

"How hard is it to get through your empty head that we're never getting back together?!" Phoebe yells right in his face, sure to emphasize every syllable. "You're an asshole, Jason, and I've already wasted too much of my precious time dealing with you and lying to myself. This relationship is over so I suggest you fuck off before you come off as a bigger jackass than you already have!"

Phoebe North has just ripped him a new one and Jason Bobby isn't pleased.

"Now you're just being hurtful." His expression darkness and he shoves her hard against the wall. "Who's the poor bastard?"

Phoebe deadpans. "What?"

"Who the fuck is feeding you all this bullshit?" he demands, snarling. "I swear, Phoebe, when I find out who he is, which I will, I'm gonna fuck him up so bad a shallow bitch like you wouldn't even give him a second glance."

"Go to hell, Jason."

Jason chuckles, "not without you, babe…"

Phoebe propels forward to no gain. She can't move with his full weight pressed against her and his anaconda-like hand tightly gripping his forearm. He's too strong and so much bigger than her. Even if she could reach forward enough to bite any exposed skin, she would, but Phoebe is completely immobile. She can smell him, his musty cologne and this scene feels all too familiar.

"Phoebe?"

At the unexpected voice, Jason Bobby jerks back with alarm and the distraction is enough for Phoebe to slide out from between her ex-boyfriend and the wall, sure to slap him hard across the face. Jason curses aloud, holding his throbbing cheek and looking to Phoebe, practically foaming at the mouth is a frenzy state.

"What the hell is going on?"

Phoebe turns to see Hunter walking towards her with his hands tucked into the pockets of his loose jeans. He's sporting his New London High letterman jacket as always and already his smoldering eyes are attacking Jason Bobby. Standing tall, Hunter arrives at Phoebe's side and she's finally allowed a moment where she doesn't have to be so on edge. She knows for a fact that Hunter would never let anything happen to her.

"Look, babe, it's your brother's boyfriend," Jason smirks, throwing Phoebe a look before focusing on the quarterback of the varsity football team. "What's up, Fag Face?"

Hunter grits his teeth. "Pheebs, is there a problem here?"

"None of your business," Jason cuts in. "Since when is chatting with my girlfriend a crime?"

"Ex-girlfriend," Phoebe corrects, "And it is considering your definition of chatting is sexual harassment."

Jason growls, "cry me a river."

"Come on, Hunter. Let's get out of here," Phoebe calls with her hand on the tight muscle of his bicep. The look on Hunter's face is predominantly antipathy and if it wasn't for her hold him, back, Phoebe's sure Hunter would be confronting Jason as we speak.

"Chicken shit, much?" Jason verbally jabs, cracking his knuckles in anticipation of a fight. "The thing is that I've got this theory that the school's king jock isn't as tough as you've got everyone believing. I'm already suspended. I've got nothing to lose."

"But you have everything to lose," Phoebe warns Hunter in a hushed whisper, pulling on his arm. "Hunter, he's not worth it."

"No, but you are," Hunter contradicts, looking deep into her eyes. Phoebe is instantly stunned by his words, her hand losing its grip on his arm. It's like letting a guard dog off its leash. Hunter quickly moves toward Jason Bobby who's already ready with his fists up.

Jason's the first to throw a punch and all of Hunter's football training goes to work as he easily evades the attack. Jason stumbles forward and Hunter's large hand clamps down on Bobby's neck, slamming his scruffy face into the brick wall. Grunting and grimacing, Jason thrashes though Hunter has him pinned and powerless with his arm twisted behind his back.

"You leave Phoebe the fuck alone," Hunter menacingly orders, digging Jason's face into the rough brick of the wall. "If you see her around school or around town you walk in the other direction. You don't talk to her; you don't even _look_ at her. You feel me?"

"Fuck off," Jason growls and Hunter pulls his face forward just to slam it back against the wall, crimson blood spilling from his nose. "Shit. I feel you, ight? Just let me the fuck go."

Hunter easily pulls Jason back, crushing his face into the wall one last time for good measure before throwing him to the ground. It all looks so effortless and simple yet Jason Bobby, self-proclaimed badass is on the ground, spitting up blood. Hunter then takes Phoebe gently yet firmly by the elbow and rushes her down the alley and out by the football field.

"You okay, Phoebe?"

"A little bruised, but it could have been worse. Thanks to you, it wasn't," Phoebe says quietly. Once they're out in the open, Hunter releases her from his light hold and Phoebe inspects the darkening skin of her wrist.

Hunter frowns, looking at her swelling wrist. "I should have broken his wrist for that."

"What are you, in the mafia? So that's why when we eat out you can never sit with your back to the door." Phoebe finds her voice to joke even after such a terrifying encounter with a guy she once convinced herself to care about. That signature grin appears on Hunter's face and Phoebe's relieved. A scowl doesn't suit his gorgeous face.

"Phoebe," he whines, looking from side to side with mock paranoia. "What did I tell you about talking about my _business_ out in the open?"

Phoebe laughs, "I'll try to remember that next time."

"For someone who was assaulted in an alleyway, you're strangely cheery," Hunter observes, thrown off by the smile on Phoebe's face. "What's going on?"

"Well, before Jason Bobby snuck back into my life, it was a pretty good day," Phoebe admits. "Seriously, you come to the rescue like you're Superman, your SAT score wasn't as high as mine, of course, but you did fairly well and you're a football superstar. What can't you do?"

"Well, people tell me I'm a horrible liar," the jock smiles and Phoebe laughs lightly. "Um, I can't cook to save my life and as pathetic as it sounds I am admittedly a pushover especially when it comes to pretty girls."

Phoebe smiles, knowing it's true.

"Well, thank you," Phoebe says and Hunter feels flattered, knowing girls as strong as Phoebe North don't often show their gratitude. "What were you doing back here anyways?"

"Trying to avoid that parade thing," Hunter replies, looking up with indifference. "Ahh, I decided to let Jordan have his moment. I mean, he is the receiver. If he didn't catch that throw which was the furthest thing from perfect, we wouldn't be celebrating right now."

"Sweet, talented and modest," Phoebe sings his praise. "If I didn't know you so well, I'd think you were perfect, Hunt."

"Far from it actually," he chuckles vaguely. "Another thing I can't seem to do is pick a college. My dad's been pushing Penn State, you know." Hunter clears his throat, making his voice sound deeper, older. "C'mon, son, don't you wanna follow in your old man's footsteps?"

Phoebe raises an eyebrow. "What do _you_ want, Hunt?"

"I don't know," he confesses with a sigh. "You know, people think that I have it so easy, being super jock and having colleges offer me sports cars and fruit baskets. The truth is it's not. If anything, it's harder. Do I want to keep making dear ol' dad proud, go to Penn State like he did, just to blow out my knee and end up selling cars or do I want to escape to sunny Southern California, where no one knows me?"

"USC, that's awesome," Phoebe says knowingly. "But, Hunt, California's so…so far."

"I know," Hunter nods. "This place has been my home for so long, I don't know if I can leave it all behind, especially my mom…and Rodge."

"God, I hate talking about the future," Phoebe groans and leans her head against Hunter's broad shoulder. She turns to him with excitement flashing across her face. "Why don't we drive down to Bliss Bakery and I buy you pie?"

"Phoebe−"

"Aww, come on, Hunter," she pushes, linking her arm with his. "It's the least I could do after you kicked the crap out of my stupid ex and when you pulled him off of Dylan the other day. Plus, I'm totally craving key lime pie and I need to put in a cake order for Aldo's birthday which you're expected to attend by the way."

"Well, since Bliss Bakery cake is being served," Hunter deducts, licking his lips. "I'm in. You think I could get away with giving the kid my autograph as a present?"

Phoebe laughs, "No chance."

"Can't say that I didn't try," Hunter sighs while running his hand down the side of his neck. "Hey, while we're at Bliss, we should pick something up for D. Poor sap must be going insane trapped in that lighthouse all day long."

Phoebe smiles to herself; the only thing sweeter than key lime pie is going home to Dylan.

…

Christina's absolutely exhausted.

She walks down the halls of New London High and everyone's still high on school pride with their wide grins especially since New London is the new football state champions. It's rather infectious and she wears a smile herself, but inside she's dying to find an empty corner of the library and sleep until the yellow school bus pulls up to pick her up along with her siblings.

Christina rounds the corner and that's when she sees him.

_Rodge Montgomery_

She can feel her heart leap in her chest though she desperately tries to ignore it. Christina decides that it's better to walk away before he spots her, but it's too late seeing as he's already waving her over, smiling that damn smile she finds irresistible. Christina takes a deep breath when she sees him coming over, knowing that when he's too close she loses the ability to breathe.

"Hey Christina," he smiles, so cool and collected. "I didn't see you at Devin's after the game."

"Yeah, stuffy room filled with sloppy drunks, not exactly my idea of a good time," Christina says, knowing that's a regular evening for Rodge Montgomery. "Plus, with all the drama at home, I couldn't leave even if I wanted to."

Rodge nods understandingly. "So thanks again for yesterday. I, um, I was falling apart."

"It's not a problem, Rodge, really," Christina smiles brightly. "I'm glad to help."

"So I came to school late today because I, uhhh, I went to see Silver this morning," Rodge explains and Christina feels her body tense. It's moments like this where Christina thinks Rodge can't possibly feel the way Phoebe and Dylan assume he does. If he has the slightest idea that she likes him, he wouldn't be telling her this. He has to know it hurts like hell.

"Oh," Christina manages to squeak, "What happened?"

"We talked. I apologized and," Rodge takes a deep breath, "we got back together."

In spite of the way she hides it so well, Christina suddenly feels sick and frustrated beneath her bright smile. She wants nothing more than to smack him across the head and ask what the hell he was thinking. She reconsiders though, choosing silence, continuing to walk towards her locker down the hall. Rodge follows right behind.

"So you talked to her?" Christina asks. "You talked to, um, Silver about college and the future and you hanging out with Devin and his friends again?"

"More or less," Rodge mumbles and Christina takes that as a no. "Look, Silver and I have always been this way, alright? We ignore what doesn't work and we live in the moment. It's what we do, how we are. I don't expect you to understand. I just thought I'd let you know."

"You know what, Rodge?" Christina asks, turning to him with an expression on her face that can only be described as heated. "Next time you need a shoulder to cry on, go to someone else, okay?"

His face looks puzzled, almost hurt. "Tina−"

"No, don't 'Tina' me," Christina snaps, using her father constantly referred to as 'tough love'. "I listened to you and talked you through it and I was hoping that maybe I helped you, but no. You just go right back to your old ways. You don't even try, Rodge."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it's true," Christina argues, staggering away from him. "This is just going to keep happening over and over again because you're too scared to actually talk about your issues with your girlfriend. Well, I refuse to listen to you bitch and moan, but not do anything to try and fix it. Call me a bad friend, I don't care. I'm done."

"Christina," Rodge says, so soft and damn tragic. Her back is facing him, but she can feel his eyes burning into her. He isn't touching her, but she knows his fingers are reaching out to her, but hesitating to touch.

"We can't be friends or whatever it is we are," Christina says strongly, glancing at Rodge over her shoulder. She feels the tears stinging at her eyes and feels foolish because of it. "Not until you grow up."

Christina doesn't wait for a response and starts walking.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like Joe Jonas?"

The voice is feminine and sweet and it makes Christina feel so cold.

"Only this emo gothic bitch I sometimes call my girlfriend," Rodge jokes only to cry out in pain. "Ow, Silver, fine, I meant emo gothic bitch with pretty eyes and a mean left hook."

"Wow," a sarcastic female voice deadpans. "My boyfriend is so good with words."

"Love yah too, pretty girl," Rodge replies. "Now what're you doing here?"

"I missed you," his girlfriend replies. "And we need to go buy a gift for Aldo little boy North. The birthday party's on Saturday and I already promised Dylan that we'd go."

"Sweet," Rodge agrees, "because Hunter's got the Jeep today and I've been dying to get behind the wheel of your pretty little Silver Mercedes."

"Yeah…no way are you driving my car."

The two go on bickering and Christina can't listen anymore. Her heart can't take it. She's tempted to glance back and finally see this Silver with her own eyes. Ultimately, Christina decides against it. From her eavesdropping, it seems that the dysfunctional couple will be at Aldo's party and Christina has a feeling she'll spend the entire time avoiding them. Christina expects Silver to be gorgeous. For Rodge to be so attached to her, she must be flawless.

Christina laughs bitterly to herself, having bypassed the dating and gone straight to the heartache.

…

It's plain and simply the sweetest thing to meet his ears. The humidity of the air causes the material of his Beatles t-shirt to stick to his pale skin. Condensation blurs the mirrors he sits beside. Dylan randomly runs his finger across the perspiring surface, drawing random trails that swirl and cross over and over again. The heat of the enclosed space would have driven him insane if it wasn't for the voice of an angel lulling him into euphoria.

Suddenly, the voice along with the sound of running water ceases. Dylan blinks and runs the back of his damp hand across his forehead. He purses his lips and shifts atop the counter, his long legs dangling over the edge. Now free from his earlier trance, Dylan's face contorts uncomfortably.

"So…when you shower here do you always have to have someone with you?"

"Yes," Brooke's frantic voice bounces off the walls of the room filled with individual showering stalls. She appears, wrapped in nothing but a towel and drenched from head to toe. "This place is frickin' creepy and not to mention haunted! I usually bring Joey, my drummer, he's gay, but he isn't here and you're here and practically married so yeah, lucky you, Lennon."

"Like I'd try something," Dylan scoffs, swinging his legs back and forth. "Your boyfriend who's built like a linebacker would kick my ass and then I'd go home to Phoebe who'd then continue the ass-kicking."

Brooke smirks, "and people think you're stupid."

Dylan's face is one of a boy in the aftermath of a trance, blinking, still unable to believe his ears. He's heard her voice all day when they were in a recording studio playing around and just now when she was singing in the shower. Still, he can't believe his ears. "God, sometimes I forget how good you are."

"I'm Brooke," she says with a giggle. "Good's all you got?"

"Would you rather amazing, awesome, super duper?" Dylan lists for the girl with the cheeky smile, skin still moist from her shower.

"Hmm, where's the 'all of thee above' option?" Brooke asks cockily, winding a lock of her wet hair around her finger. Laughing, she throws him a sharp look. "Now close your eyes so I can change. I swear, Dylan, if you pull a peeping Tom−"

"B, breathe," Dylan interrupts. He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and sees Phoebe's name flash across the front screen. "Brooke, I'll be right outside…"

She pouts, "Dylan…"

"Brooke, Phoebe's calling," Dylan whines and motions to the phone. Sighing and stomping, Brooke shoos him away with her hands and Dylan happily answers the call. "Hey Pheebs, yeah, I'm not home. I'm with Brooke Ferris…in the shower."

Dylan feels something hard thump him in the head and he cries out in unsuspected pain.

"You were so asking for that, Dylan North!"

Rubbing his head, he escapes the sauna-like room, relieved by the hallway's air condition.

"Yeah, I wasn't kidding," Dylan goes back to his conversation. "Oh, you're having a Bliss Bakery pie fight with my drummer? You whore."

"No, well, Brooke invited me to the studio and I was curious so…here I am. Yeah, I'll be home soon. Ehh, we just recorded some crappy three-minute collaboration and got the personal chef to grill us paninis," Dylan explains. "Yup, music and food, that's pretty much the extent of my day. Hmm, I'll see you in a bit and yeah, I invited B to the party. Okay, bye Pheebs."

Even after hanging up, Dylan stares at her name across the screen of his phone. The smile on his face just won't fade and Dylan wouldn't try to stop smiling even if he could. Sometimes, moments like this, how good it is to simply hear her voice, makes all of the lying and sneaking around they're going to have to do worth it.

"Oh, good, you're still here," Nate comes walking down the hallway, walking with such swagger that Dylan's even more intimidated by the young man than Jason Bobby, Hunter and Devin all put together. "Hey, some of the guys told me Brooke and you were recording."

"Yeah," Dylan admits a bit nervously. "Well, the studio was empty and Brooke and the sound guys said it was okay so we started playing around. Look, Nate, I didn't mean any disrespect−"

"Whoa, kid, save it," Nate chuckles, amused. "The guys said you're a good kid and B vouches for you so I know you can't be half bad. You stay good to Brooke and you're alright in my book. We cool?"

"Yeah," Dylan nods. "Cool."

"Now, about that Beatles 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand' cover you did with Brooke," Nate reminds Dylan who inwardly cringes, hoping he hasn't put his all time favorite musical inspiration to shame.

"We did it a lot slower than the original, heavy on the bass and the acoustics," Dylan confesses, tapping his fingers against his thigh with his racking nerves. "Listen, if I butchered a Beatles classic−"

"No way, kid," Nate grins and Dylan's ears perk. "Being a diehard Beatles fan myself, I'm damn critical on every cover and yours wasn't that horrible. And I'm not just saying this because it was a duel with my Brooke either. You really held your own on the track. Congrats, D, I liked it."

Dylan has to lean against the hallway wall to keep from falling over after being praised by a professional producer. Nate continues, "If it was up to me, man, I'd sign you on the spot."

"R-really?" Dylan stutters in disbelief.

"Yeah, with your sound and your look, I can see all the crazed teenage girls eating it up," Nate nods, so sure of himself. "Brooke tells me you're signed up to do the battle of the bands thing. If I can get you in the studio to record with me and get the boss to check it out, I'm sure I can get you a record deal. Battle of the bands isn't necessary. You're that good, kid."

"Wow," Dylan's eyes widen. He's skeptical.

"Oh crap, Dylan, we lost track of time! You gotta get home now!" Brooke shouts urgently, bursting into the conversation. "Hello, Earth to boy who's supposedly grounded! It's almost four."

"Oh shit," Dylan murmurs, suddenly panicking. "Frank is going to kill me. Shit."

"Take my car," Nate directs, tossing a set of keys to Brooke who easily catches it. She kisses him sweetly and the older guy smiles against his girlfriend's lips. He then turns to Dylan, his extended hand holding out a little card. "Give me a call sometime next week and we can talk."

"Thanks for everything, Nate."

"No problem, D," Nate smirks, the two pounding fists. "A kid as talented as you is always welcomed here."

Dylan nods and grins before being pulled out of the room by an anxious Brooke Ferris. As he walks down the halls of the recording studio, Dylan stares down at the little card in his hands, his mind reeling with all the possibilities, all the doors to the future that can be opened with a simple dial of the number printed on the business card.

Brooke smiles, "What did I tell you? Nate's amazing, right?"

Dylan grins to himself; his mind running wild with what the future has in store − both with his music career and with Phoebe.

* * *

**Author's note: **

Okay, so how do you like the new and improved Temporary Insanity? I like to think that my writing has improved from way back when. How to you like my additional characters? They're mostly there to show how their actions affect Phoebe and Dylan's relationship. Also how's my characterization of the cannon characters?

I'd love some feedback if you really want me to continue this story. Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!


	14. Every Party has a Clown

**Temporary Insanity**

**Chapter fourteen: Every Party has a Clown  
**

"Did we really have to invite your other two girlfriends to Aldo's birthday?"

Dylan smiles as he pulls on a Metalica t-shirt that he found at a cool thrift one summer in Greenwich Village paired with a pair of dark jeans. He looks deep into the mirror, past his own image and at the girl standing behind him. Her sundress is simple yet chic and the smooth color of champagne, accompanied by mahogany gladiator sandals that lace up her ankles.

"Yes, we did," Dylan confirms, swiftly taking her by the wrist and reeling her into the bathroom. Her waves of caramel are flying every which way as Dylan moves to press her up against the back of the door, his free hand reaching over to flick the lock shut.

"Does Silver know Brooke's invited?" Phoebe questions. Her face shows her annoyance when she notices how Dylan's transfixed on her little pink mouth, his mind turned to mush. "I'm not about to play mediator, Dylan."

"Phoebe, chill," Dylan says with such a blasé attitude towards something that could possibly be a volcano waiting to erupt. He smiles gently, his hand sweeping through her tresses that are soft as silk. "I told B to stop by Bliss and pick up cupcakes to soften the blow. She's cool. Silver−"

"Silver is a ticking time bomb," Phoebe finishes. "I don't even know if she's cool with me."

"Silver doesn't hold grudges," Dylan assures her, shaking his head. Phoebe doesn't hesitate to show her disbelief. "Okay, so she may seem like the type to and there are exceptions to the rule, but looks can be deceiving. I mean, look how many times her and Rodge have gotten back together and he does worst shit to her on a daily basis. Trust me, Pheebs."

She scowls, "Trust _you? _Mr_.−_"

Phoebe hardly has time to suck in a breath before his lips come crashing against hers. He kisses her so hard, so intensely, that Phoebe can't do anything, but return it, her lips mimicking his in movement. It's moments like this where she both curses and adores Dylan North. On one hand, it's frustrating because they never get anywhere when she wants to talk about important issues yet being with him is the sweetest escape she has.

He breaks the kiss, panting against her lips, "Now, Phoebe, be good today."

She laughs airily, "Don't tell me what to do."

Their lips meet again in a kiss that's more attentive and affectionate than the rough, breathtaking ones that are reserved for shutting each other up. Her arms go around his neck and she presses into him as if she were trying to merge them into a single being. He groans. She moans. They kiss again. His fingers are tipped with fire, setting her skin ablaze with each touch.

_BOOM!_

_BOOM!_

"Dylan, you've been in there forever! Get out of the bathroom!"

_BOOM!_

_BOOM!_

Dylan grunts irritably and Phoebe's arms go slack as she leans back against the door, feeling the entire door vibrate each time Naoko strikes it with her closed fist. They reluctantly detangle their limbs and turn to the mirror, sure to straighten every article of clothing and put every strand of hair back in place. It's times like these where they have to be extra careful, when they know they have an audience.

Dylan groans impatiently and he angrily throws the door open.

"It's my fucking bathroom time, Phoebe," he sneers and Phoebe tries hard not to show how she's slightly impressed with his hidden talent of acting. "You can't just barge in like that just because your hair needs a little volume."

"God, you can be so dramatic sometimes," Phoebe rolls her eyes and scowls in response. "You were brushing your teeth! It wasn't like you were jacking off or something."

"Oh, that's real appropriate, Phoebe."

"Bite me, Dylan."

Their eyes meet with a hateful fire behind each pair of orbs before they take off in opposite directions of the hallway, leaving a slightly bewildered group of youngsters looking between the two retreating figures.

They wait on opposite sides of the lighthouse and count to ten before meeting up again at the top of the steps. When they do, they're laughing hysterically and grinning from ear to ear. He reaches for her hand, but then the door bell rings and Phoebe easily eludes his grasp, instead running down the stairs, sneaking Dylan a wink that makes his smile effortless.

Phoebe rips the door open, coming face to face with New London's most dysfunctional couple. Rodge is sporting a leather jacket over a simple white v-neck and his arm is lazily thrown around Silver who looks like she's attending some Hollywood red carpet event opposed to a six-year-old's birthday. Her electric blue dress makes her eyes absolutely pop, her black tights outline her shapely legs and she tops her look off with a pair of all-black Converse.

"Hey Pheebs, don't get me wrong, you totally rock your ripped jeans and Chucks, but keeping those long oh hot damn goddess legs hidden from the general public is most definitely a crime," Rodge blurts out, practically drooling as his eyes trace from Phoebe's porcelain kneecaps to her red-painted toe nails and back up to repeat the process.

"Hmm, usually I get pissed when my boyfriend blatantly checks out other girls, but Rodge does have a point," Silver agrees, holding a vintage Super 8 camera in her hand, capturing Phoebe's appearance from head to toe. "You've got great legs, Pheebs."

"Um, thanks. Usually I'd be flattered," Phoebe says to Silver before turning her gaze over to Rodge who's licking his lips like a disgusting, hungry wolf, "but _it's Rodge_."

"Hey guys," Dylan smiles from the foot of the stairs, entertained by the way his two friends are both entranced by Phoebe, particularly her legs. "The party's out back."

"Cool," Silver smiles, "Hunter's parking the car and−"

"Look who I found out front," in arrives Hunter's voice and though he's out of sight, it's safe to assume he's pleased, the hint of a smile evident in his voice. They all turn to find the football star with both of his strong arms wrapped around the tiny frame of the one and only Brooke Ferris.

Hunter's laughing such a jovial laugh, not the one when he's making small talk with adults or when he's hanging out with his supposed friends from the football team as they drink themselves into oblivion and have belching contests. He seems genuinely happy, standing there in his Moreno Black Chino shorts, a simple gray t-shirt and Dolce sunglasses that are assumed to be Brooke's.

Phoebe thoughtfully chews on her bottom lip, waiting for this entire thing to explode, waiting for Silver to bluntly point out their past and mistakes everyone's made. She's pleasantly surprised when Silver doesn't scream or shout or even glare. Instead, she smiles and points her camera at her ex-best friend.

"So how does it feel, B?" Silver questions while directing the lens of her camera at the petite brunette in the short, sleeveless and backless, firecracker red dress. Silver's smile is warm and almost everyone (except a grinning Dylan North) is in complete shock.

"It feels like home, S," Brooke says in a voice that's much softer and much more gentle than the usual Brooke Ferris who's often questioned if she's ADD. No longer able to contain herself, Brooke moves forward and embraces Silver who gladly returns the hug.

"How'd you do it?" Phoebe asks Dylan, so tempted to touch him when standing so close.

"Both of them are stubborn as hell. Neither was going to let their seventeen year friendship die without a fight," Dylan proudly explains. "They just needed a little Dylan North to point that out to them."

"Let me guess," Phoebe muses, thoughtfully tapping her finger against her chin. "You had nothing better to do during your little suspension from school, called both of them, tricked them into meeting when they thought they were going to hang out with you and somehow you magically got them to work out their issues."

"Wow, you know me well," Dylan laughs. "Well, it wasn't just me. Nate and Mrs. Munion helped too; it turns out the ol' girl is a huge Ferret Fan. Dude, locking them in a closet together was totally genius."

Phoebe laughs. "Seriously?"

"Well, at first I thought it was," Dylan honestly replies, running his fingers through the chocolate strands at the nape of his neck. "What really brought them together was when they pretended to be cool with each other, convinced me to set them free and tried to break my other arm."

"And you didn't tell me any of this in the bathroom this morning because?"

"I think it's cute when you squirm," Dylan replies in a teasing whisper. This time Phoebe doesn't hesitate to touch him when her fingers coil into a fist and her knuckles meet his shoulder.

"Come on, guys," Phoebe calls, motioning to the back door. "We've got a party waiting."

Stepping into the backyard is like walking into the warped world that is Chuck E. Cheese minus the air condition and loud, light up games. The property is crawling with little kids, running from the food tent to the game tent. There's Dylan giving temporary tattoos, a clown that's entertaining the children with balloon animals (and sexually assaulting Brooke with his eyes), a magician, a petting zoo, pony rides, cotton candy machine and an inflatable, jumping castle.

They immediately seize all control of the Rockband station, Hunter and Brooke alternating with the microphone and Rodge on bass, his comfort zone. Phoebe rocks the guitar, but then switches to the drums when Silver is the reason they fail one too many songs, loudly cursing her lack of coordination. Dylan grumbles from his station, but the sight of Phoebe laughing and playing around with their old friends is a sight to sweet to stay grumpy.

Kids who can barely operate the instruments start to complain and the big kids need to search for something else to occupy their time. The rest of the evening consists mostly of teasing Dylan and eating junk food and watching little children participating in tug-o-war.

When Hunter gets bored with kids yelling at Dylan, hating on his rock band logos for tattoos and Rodge cowering away from the clown, he proposes a friendly game of soccer. Out on the field, he likes feeling the sun beating down on him and the feel of the grass beneath his shoes. He likes having a goal and doing anything in his power to achieve it despite anyone or anything that may stand in his way.

_Thump. _

"Ouch," Hunter grumbles, running his fingers over the sore spot on the back of his head, fingers raking through short, dark curls.

"Sorry," Kelly laughs with a soccer ball at her feet. She kicks the ball up into the sky and Hunter easily catches it between his large, strong hands. "As much as dad thinks he can lead a team, we outnumbered him in the vote so you're captain of one team and apparently we can't be on the same team. They think it'd be unfair."

"It kinda would. We'd completely cream them," Hunter puts on a wide smile for the young girl. He holds out his hand, fingers curling into a fist with Kelly imitating him, their knuckles bumping. "So I guess I'm leading an army of Norths then, huh?"

"We learned to integrate a while ago, Hunter," Kelly explains with an affirmative nod. "Well, except we're a bit uneven. You think your brother wants to play?"

"Ha, are you joking? Rodge and sports, not exactly a match made in heaven," Hunter laughs at the very idea. He scans the table of friends who are huddled around an iPod with connected speakers. "Kel, I'm going to do some quick scouting."

"Game starts in exactly fifteen," Kelly announces and Hunter flashes the girl another smile that dazzles her in a way that surpasses the likes of Edward Cullen or any other boy both realistic and fictional.

"Hey guys..."

"You're such a pedophile, playing with all those youngens like that," Rodge teases while gnawing on the bendy straw he plucked from his can of cola. Brooke freezes though it seems Dylan and Phoebe are the only ones that notice.

"That little girl totally has a crush on you," Silver claims, "leading her on like that, not cool."

"Really, because I think Rodge would call it being nice," Hunter says, enjoying the way his brother chokes on his soda. "Anyways, who wants to play some soccer?"

A round of groans comes from all across the table.

"Fine, you guys suck," Hunter says dismissively. His eyes roam the other tents of guests and he finds a lonely blonde across the way.

Without even a goodbye, Hunter takes off, approaching a downhearted girl in J. Crew from head to toe. He plasters on a charming smile and smoothly settles in beside her on the porch steps, balancing the soccer ball on his knee. She absentmindedly fiddles with the hem of her sundress when Hunter clears his throat to make his appearance known.

"Hey Christina," Hunter greets, breaking the cheerleader from her deep thought.

"Oh, hey Hunter," she forces a smile and it's painful to witness.

"So what are you doing all the way over here all alone?"

"Just tired," Christina dances around the storm that's raging in her head. "And the clown is seriously creeping me out."

"Aww Tina," he chuckles, spinning the black and white ball on the tip of his finger. "I'm a jock, yes, but stupid no."

Hunter nods across the lawn to the table where the group of musically inclined teenagers are laughing and probably enjoying a round of teasing the crap out of each other. Christina's eyes reluctantly follow and she notices the way Rodge whispers in Silver's ear and how she pushes him away with a beautiful laugh.

"She's pretty," Christina coldly comments, wondering what Rodge could possibly see in Silver Silverberg. Sure, Silver's thin and curvy and has captivating eyes and with her acceptance into Yale (the talk of the town) one can infer that she's intelligent. Then there's her attitude, how she's completely shameless, bold in her every move. "Who am I kidding? She's flawless."

"A bit of an over exaggeration, but yeah, if anything, Rodge has great taste," Hunter agrees. "They look real happy, don't they? Give it maybe fifteen minutes. He'll say something she finds offensive and I think it's her turn to angrily storm off. Then knowing my brother, he'll probably go on a sugar binge instead of chasing after her."

"Yeah, but my question is why," Christina muses darkly. "How can he− she− _both_ of them be so masochistic and continue such an unhealthy relationship?"

"One of life's many unanswered questions," Hunter smirks, seeming like the epitome of calm compared to Christina who's ready to rip her hair out. "Look, Christina, don't sweat it, alright? It isn't your shit to obsess over."

"I'm not obsessed." She pouts, not a patented Brooke Ferris pout, but the expression is still adorable and heart wrenching enough to make Hunter sympathize with the girl.

"Most girls who chase after Rodge have this mentality that they can fix him. They just see him as this bad boy waiting for a good girl to make him better. It's actually pretty cliché," Hunter explains to the best of his ability. "You see Silver, she isn't like those girls. She's smart and aggressive and stubborn and she doesn't chase him. She doesn't try to fix him."

"And she isn't happy," Christina surely adds, words that make Hunter look away, shamefaced. "Listen, Hunter, I got the talk from Phoebe and Dylan. If you think I'm chasing him or I'm so disillusioned I think I can tame the wild bad boy, well, don't. Rodge and I aren't even friends."

"I heard about that," Hunter winces and Christina quickly looks to him with interest. "I briefly remember him ranting to himself about you and Silver and growing up. What's that all about?"

"It just…annoys me that he runs to me not because we're friends, but because he needs an ego boost every time he fights with his girlfriend," Christina vents, "and it's not like he even listens to what I say or cares about me because he just goes back to her. I just, I want off the merry-go-round."

"Try having to deal with both of them," Hunter says, thrusting a hand through his hair in a weary gesture. "Rodge does something stupid, he wants me to talk to her and smooth things over. When Rodge storms off, I'm the one that has to reassure her that all the making up they do isn't for nothing."

"It isn't?"

"Not even I know anymore," Hunter says, shaking his head. "What I do know is that when they ask me for help, I help them. It doesn't matter what I think. It's their lives. He's my brother. She's my friend. I don't have the right to judge them so I don't."

"How mature of you," Christina goes for a genuine smile, but fails miserably. She sighs, thankful for waterproof mascara. "God, I feel like a complete joke, the little girl sitting in the corner staring at them like a freak. I might as well make my stalker level weirdness official, put on a red rubber nose and join the creepy clown guy."

"Yeah, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. Dude is a complete perv. I gotta wear my back-the-fuck-off snarl every time the creep makes a pass at B," Hunter shakes his head and chuckles despite the fact that it's true. Christina resists a reaction and the beautiful twin leans closer with determination lighting his eyes. "Aww, what's with the broody face? Come on, Tina, it wouldn't kill you to smile, would it?"

Her lips curl up, just seeing his sweet smile.

"That's my girl," Hunter grins and stretches his strong arm across her shoulders, pulling her in for an affectionate hug, though shorter and looser than the ones he gives Brooke and Phoebe. "Now, get up. We've got a soccer match to win and I think me and you are enough to make William cry."

"Why are you such a great guy, Hunter?" Christina wonders aloud. Hunter stands from the porch steps and holds out his hand. Christina easily takes his offering and he wraps his arm around her shoulders, leading her to the grassy area that'll serve as their field.

Hunter squeezes her again, hoping to hug away her sullen attitude. Laughing, he jokes, "Because Rodge took the jerk gene."

…

"Who's the blonde?" Silver asks, her voice taking on a defensive quality. Dylan releases his finger from the airbrush, admiring the ruby red lips, the pearly white teeth and outstretched tongue he sprayed onto the arm of a five-year-old in a party hat. His eyes travel across the way and his eyebrow goes up, noticing Christina and Hunter all buddy-buddy all of a sudden.

"That's Christina Beardsley," Brooke explains when no one jumps to Silver's question that hangs in the air. "She's William's little sister, stepsister to the Norths, cheerleader, cheery and cute in this naïve baby rabbit sort of way."

Silver wastes no time with her questions. "Are they dating?"

"He better not," Rodge grumbles beneath his breath, though Silver's too busy eyeing Christina to take notice to her boyfriend's sideline commentary.

"What's it to you if they are?" Dylan laughs, swiping his finger across the frosting of Phoebe's cupcake. She playfully slaps him and Dylan grins, pressing his finger past his lips and into his mouth.

"Just curious," Silver absentmindedly responds, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Rest assure, babe, he isn't dating her," Rodge butts in, shaking his head. "He may be all sweet and whatever with you girls, but he's my brother, a Montgomery, a dude. I know him and he's so into this football gig right now he doesn't do relationships. End of story."

"Aww, Hunt's just waiting for the right girl to come along. Give me twenty years to live out the rockstar roller coaster and then when I'm a famous singer ready to settle down and he's a famous NFLstar with a Hollywood mansion, I'm totally marrying him," Brooke says with stars in her eyes.

Rodge cringes, "Poor Hunter."

"Poor William," Phoebe interjects. "Brooke, he just walked by and heard all of that."

"Forget William." Brooke's demeanor suddenly changes, her plush lips poking out in a pout as she whines, "Phoebe, tell your stepbrother to quit staring. It's really starting to freak me out."

Combing her fingers through her bangs, Phoebe takes a look around and notices a number of admirers, one leering quite creepily catching her eye. "Well, Harry just hit puberty to where his voice cracks and he actually notices girls now," Phoebe says a bit awkwardly, "With Silver and you looking like−"

"The Girls Next Doors," Rodge interrupts just to be slapped across the head by Silver and socked in the arm by Phoebe. "Ow! Fine! Adult film stars."

"Watch it," Silver warns.

To which Rodge rolls his eyes. "It was a joke."

"Anyways," Brooke cuts in, already feeling one of the couple's many arguments coming on, "I didn't mean Harry who I think I might flash just to see how red he'll turn." Brooke bites the tip of her tongue, wiggling her fingers in a wave at the sandy-haired boy who stops to stare, giving Christina the opportunity to steal the ball from him. "I was talking about Will."

Dylan blinks. "I distinctly remember you saying 'forget William'."

Brooke sighs, "Well, it's kinda hard with him staring like that."

In three second flat, four heads turn simultaneously to find the Coast Guard's oldest son, well, also staring. Embarrassment plays across his face and William quickly goes back to the soccer match, trying to shake off the fact that every pair of eyes sitting around that table are observing his every move.

"Nice guys. Way to be inconspicuous,"Brooke groans, shielding her face with her hands, a sign of sheer mortification. "Ugh, does he not get that the breakup was permanent?"

"Well, no, not if you're sending him mixed signals," Dylan mumbles beneath his breath, thinking of the ridiculous way William accused Dylan of stealing that photo of him and his beloved Brooke. Looking at the musician with her head thoughtfully tilted to the side, Brooke's about to question Dylan, but is interrupted by Rodge.

"Here's an idea. B, why don't you use Hunt?" Rodge deviously proposes, his dark side itching for a little fun. "Nothing like a little fake out makeout to tell a guy it's over. Foolproof, I promise, and you know Hunter. He'll totally be fine with it."

"No," Silver surprisingly objects and Brooke throws Dylan a knowing smile. "One, even I think that's cruel. Two, we're at a five-year-old's birthday party. And three, it makes you look cheap."

Brooke sighs, "Then what do you suggest I do, Silver?"

"Hey William Beardsley!" Silver shouts in the loudest voice she can muster, standing up. Despite his bellowing father, William stops again, impatiently watching Silver. "Quit stalking your ex and get your head in the game! FYI, you're kinda being a creeper!"

Brooke groans and immediately grabs Silver by the wrist, yanking her back down into her seat. With animate eyes, she sneers, "Oh yeah, that wasn't cruel at all. Thanks a lot, Silver. It's nice to see you're still a shameless emo whore."

"And they may have made you give back the uniform, but you're still a slutty cheerleader bitch," Silver grins a grin of accomplishment. "I've missed you too, B."

"Ha, yeah, thanks. Now I'm totally bummed," Brooke grumbles as she sits up and threads her fingers through her shiny tresses that resemble a wave of chocolate. Watching Silver so smiley, Brooke gets an idea and her signature cheeky grin returns. "You know, I think I'll just makeout with Hunt as a pick-me-up."

The smiley attitude immediately drops and Brooke feels sickly satisfied.

"Now _that_ makes you sound cheap," Phoebe laughs lightly, Brooke deflates with slumping shoulders, too miserable to even retaliate. Seeing all her friends preoccupied, Phoebe's hand finds Dylan's thigh beneath the table covered in plates of cake and cups of juice.

"Nah, not cheap. Just Brooke," Dylan laughs, his hand finding Phoebe's and entwining their fingers. His hand is so much larger than hers and when she feels him squeeze, she's filled with such warmth, sure to squeeze back.

"Whoa, hold on there, North Pole," Silver laughs, bringing his attention back above ground. The dark-haired girl shifts in her seat and lazily points her camera at Dylan. "Are you implying that our lovely Brooke Ferris is indeed synonymous with cheap?"

"Aww, Silver, you're talking to Dylan here," Phoebe reminds her friend, "I think you need to use smaller words."

"Shut up," Dylan orders playfully and notices his mother sending him hand signals from across the yard. "I'll get back to you, Silver. Pheebs, I think mom's telling us it's time for the cake."

"Yeah, we should really help out. Mom's totally swamped with five-year-olds and Frank's out there playing soccer," Phoebe scoffs, rolling her eyes. Dylan heads back towards the kitchen and Phoebe stands reluctantly. "We'll be right back, guys."

"Hey Pheebs, when you walk away, can you sway your hips a bit? Rodge likes," the bassist winks at the pale guitarist who narrows her eyes into angry slits before pelting him with a plastic water bottle and sauntering away.

"Rodge is really starting to get on my nerves," Phoebe complains, shoving the backdoor open and stomping into the empty kitchen. Inside, Dylan's inspecting the birthday cake straight from the beloved Bliss Bakery. He looks up at Phoebe and smiles, seeing her with her arms crossed, gritting her teeth.

"Rodge only says what he says and does what he does because he knows all of it pushes your buttons," Dylan laughs, his arm roping around her hips and pulling her to him. "Plus, you're kinda hot when you're all worked up."

"Shut up, Dylan," Phoebe snaps, teasingly pulling away when he tries to kiss her. "And what's with you and Brooke trading all those secretive looks from across the table?"

Dylan laughs, relishing in the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips, holding her tight and not wanting to let go. "Ferret seems to think that Silver's got a thing for Hunter and vice versa so we've got a little bet going."

"If only she knew what the other twin was doing with Christina," Phoebe mumbles, sympathizing slightly with the cheerleader who's been in a rather gloomy mood the last few days.

"Yeah, I wouldn't wanna be Christina right now," Dylan winces. "There's nothing worse than being on Silver's Shit List and you totally know she has one. I've seen it. It's on her Blackberry."

"Shut up and grab the cake, Lennon," Phoebe laughs and gently shoves his shoulder. Grinning, Dylan pulls her in closer and not even Phoebe North can deny the butterflies she feels rattling her ribcage. He leans in and she shoves him away again. "Dylan, what if someone comes in?"

"Phoebe, just trust me."

Their lips meet briefly, a light and delicate kiss with a hint of anxiety stinging deep within them both. At the smallest sound they break apart, Phoebe looking around frantically and Dylan smoothing his fingers through his hair. Both their eyes drop to the floor to see the two dogs staring up at them with big brown eyes and heads tilted to the side.

"Dylan," Phoebe whispers through her teeth, fisting his shirt with her long, slim fingers. "They're staring."

"I'm adopted," Dylan blurts out with a nervous laugh. "And I'm talking to the dogs, aren't I?"

"Yeah, I don't even know why I bother with you," Phoebe says with a sigh, patting his chest before walking across the kitchen. "Now grab the cake. I've got the forks and plates."

With her arms full with paper plates and plastic forks, Phoebe opens the backdoor, but before Dylan can even take a step out, Silver and Naoko step in with the much younger girl chattering incessantly. Being strong, beautiful and not to mention talented with anything somewhat related to technology, it's only natural the freshman idolizes Silver Silverberg.

"That's so cool of you helping your sister with a documentary," Naoko gushes.

"Ahh, it's the least I could do especially since I might be crashing at her place if this whole LA film school thing works out," Silver goes on, not minding Naoko's obvious admiration one bit. "Did you hear what that Frank guy said when I was interviewing him on love? What a total cheese ball."

"Hate to interrupt, but we're gonna cut the cake," Dylan announces, motioning to the white box between his hands. "Come on, guys, who can resist Bliss?"

"Oh, okay," Naoko nods, nervously fiddling with the large black beads hanging around her neck. "I was just going to show Silver this totally classified, top secret and probably intensely embarrassing for the Beardsleys little project I've been working on."

"And I'm thrilled," Silver grins without an ounce of her usual sarcasm. Naoko squeaks with a grin, moments away from jumping up and down in excitement. "Save me a slice of cake, will yah, Norths? You know I'd kill for Bliss."

"No problem," Phoebe answers as she and Dylan walk out and back over to the party.

"Here's my camera! I've been looking for it all morning!" Naoko shouts and retrieves the small camcorder sitting atop the kitchen table. The young Asian girl almost gasps when she sees the flashing little red light. "Oh crap. I think it's been recording this whole time."

"Don't worry," Silver smiles encouragingly. "The best stuff is always candid."


	15. Even Stone Walls Crumble

**Temporary Insanity**

**Chapter Fourteen: Even Stone Walls Crumble**

About three things Silver Silverberg is absolutely positive.

First, Brooke Ferris is an idiot. Apparently, the bubbly brunette wrongly thinks she has a "thing" for Hunter Montgomery. The very thought makes Silver inwardly chuckle and roll her eyes. If the girl's music career tanks, she should definitely look into being a tabloid columnist. Brainless glamour-obsessed zombies would eat up every last lie Brooke's imagination could create. Even Gossip Girl would be green with envy.

Second, there's a dark, sick and deeply twisted part of her − and she doesn't know how strong that part might be − that think her boyfriend might be cheating on her with a cheerleader named Christina Beardsley. Silver isn't one for jumping to conclusions, but the implications traded between Candid Phoebe and Candid Dylan only leads her mind down one particular path. Rodge is in deep shit.

And Fourth, Phoebe and Dylan may be far from Edward and Bella or even Jasper and Alice, but they seem just as unconditionally and tragically in love.

Silver almost regrets fiddling with Naoko's video camera as the young Asian girl loudly argues with one of her brothers, the one Phoebe earlier referred to as Harry, Silver thinks. She does not regret slickly stealing the tape from the camera and slipping it into her bra.

"Hey Naoko, as fun as this has been, why don't we head back to the party, okay?" Silver asks nervously, threading her fingers through her pin-straight raven tresses. The Asian girl looks confused, Harry or whatever looks like he's ready to spit some pickup line he's heard from his older siblings and Silver bolts for the door.

She trots down the stairs, hoping her sudden outburst will prompt Naoko to follow her with questions that won't have answers instead of checking her camera so soon and finding the missing tape. The second she hits the bottom of the staircase, a hand grabs her forearm and yanks her aside.

Silver's ready with her sharp tongue, ready for anything Rodge has to say. Her face, however, softens when she sees Hunter and those kind green eyes. She should have known it was Hunter. Though he grabbed her of so suddenly, his touch is different from Rodge's. While Rodge is dominant and stern, Hunter's secure yet gentle.

"Hunter, you scared the crap out of me!" she scolds him, pulling away and then thrusting her fist into the rock solid contour of his bicep. She shakes it off, smoothing down her dark, straight strands.

"Sorry, Silver. It's just…you had that crazed determined look in your eyes, you know, the one you get when you're about to do something stupid? Yeah, thought I'd cut in because, well, friends don't let friends make an ass out of themselves a kiddy parties," Hunter says, half joking and half serious.

"Screw you," Silver says simply, yanking her arm free from his hand.

"What's your problem?" Hunter wonders aloud. "My brother's been well-behaved all day." _Except now because he's "smoothing things over with Christina" and I'm supposed to distract you for a bit_, Hunter thinks, his grin giving nothing away.

"I just…" Silver pauses, fumbling for words and nervously tangling and untangling her fingers. "Have you ever found out something about someone…something shocking that might even…change your perspective on everything?"

Hunter mentally curses. Does she know?

"What are you talking about, Silverberg?" Hunter asks cautiously.

"I can't say here," Silver says through gritting teeth. She looks from side to side and though the lighthouse appears empty, with so many children around, there's no telling who's listening around the corner. "I want cake," she says, grabbing his wrist and drastically dragging him the rest of the way though the house.

"So…I thought you were over that whole superficial cheerleader bitch phase…"

Hunter blinks. "What?"

"William's sister, the blonde," Silver discretely mentions. "She seems like your type."

"Hotshot football star and sweet, blonde cheerleader," Hunter laughs as they make their way down the porch steps and into a crowd of people half their height. "It's a cliché for a reason. Plus, I like my girls with a little edge."

"Oh, you like girls?" Silver jokes with suggestively arched eyebrows.

"Ha ha, funny," Hunter says dryly before he playfully pokes her in her side. Feeling an overwhelming need to retaliate, Silver slams her fist into shoulder, but finds he's pulled her into a playful embrace and lightly tickles her sides.

Silver can't resist a laugh as she struggles to fight off the jock, but then a loud screech draws both their attention. Brooke Ferris with her wild mane of chocolate and auburn tresses, jumps onto Hunter's back with her thin, tan arms wrapped around his neck. Hunter laughs and his arms go around her legs, keeping her up on his back.

"Pony boy! I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Brooke asks sweetly.

"You, Brooke Ferris, interrupting? Never," Hunter laughs lightly. He turns his head to see Brooke's angelic face perched on his shoulder, hair in complete disarray and those adorable dimples that accompany her lively smile. Hunter looks at her, Brooke looks at him and Silver feels like she's intruding on something she'll never understand.

Silver's always so guarded. She can joke around with the boys, but it's controlled. Everything you see and know about Silver Silverberg is what she wants you to see and know. She doesn't leak her true feelings, her real motives and most certainly not her silliest thought. She watches Brooke and Hunter and it's so baffling Silver feels embarrassed for even watching.

"I told everyone about our fairytale wedding," Brooke says in all seriousness and Hunter can't help, but laugh aloud. "Baby, your brother seemed hell-bent on keeping us apart, but he got over it pretty fast."

Hunter smirks. "Did you let him have it?"

"Oh yeah," Brooke grins affirmatively. "I carefully explained to Rodge that you, hubby, are prime real estate, complete with that white picket fence and golden retriever and in twenty years, Brooke Ferris will be ready to move in."

Silver scowls. "Not dehumanizing at all, Brooke."

"Aw, don't feel left out," Brooke coos and jumps down from Hunter's back. Grinning like an idiot, she links her arm through Silver's, the way only a friend could. "You're so a bride's maid, bitch. I'm still debating on whether you or Pheebs are Maid of Honor though."

Their grins are so playful and the topic so ridiculous that Silver can't help, but play along. She sighs, "Put me in an orange dress and I'll shave off all that pretty hair of yours."

Brooke gasps dramatically. "You wouldn't!"

"Dude," Hunter mutters, scratching the back of his head. "I'm so not marrying G.I Jane."

Brooke gasps, appalled and smacks Hunter's shoulder. He easily catches her wrists and tickles her sides. Brooke, never one for subtlety, shrieks and laughs and wiggles wildly. Silver shakes her head. It's hard to believe that they're not five-year-olds, but actually eighteen and graduating high school in a matter of months.

"Hey babe, what's going on?" Rodge asks as his thin arm takes its rightful place around her neck. Rodge wears a smirk that isn't as bright as it should be and there's something in his eyes that seems a bit sad, but Silver can't exactly place it.

"Nothing much," Silver answers with boredom and stands on her tiptoes long enough to peck her boyfriend's lips. "The happy _pretend_ couple is just debating whether they should have the wedding here or at the Plaza Hotel."

"Don't matter to me," Rodge smirks, "as long as there's an open bar, right, B?"

"Louis Roederer _Cristal_ and nothing less. You know what they say, right? Champagne for my real friends and real shame for bitch-ass posers," Brooke says with a proud smile, holding her head high. Rodge seems to have joined the giddy party, looking as if he could kiss Brooke Ferris, but settles for a silly high-five.

"Hey, I got a text from Pheebs," Hunter exclaims and Silver's spine feels like an iron rod struck by lightning. Hunter's staring at the screen of his cell phone and Silver's hanging on his every word. "They're in the basement and have something they wanna show us."

"They?" Silver inquires. "As in Phoebe and Dylan? Dylan and Phoebe?"

"North and North. Yep," Hunter clarifies with his arm snaking around Brooke's shapely hips after she steals his cell phone. Hunter can't help but notice how Silver's suddenly uncomfortable. "Why? Something wrong, Silverberg?"

"No, nothing," she lies effortlessly and feels if she doesn't tell someone she might explode.

---

"It's ridiculous that you'd even suggest that, Dylan."

"Why not?"

"Because it already freaks me out that Bigmouth Brooke knows," Phoebe says with a worried, dejected sigh. "Silver would probably stick her camera in our faces and try to turn our lives into some mini-series for her vlog. Hunter I can see being supportive, but if his evil twin knows then it won't be too long until the entire world does too."

Dylan loudly exhales, his breath shuffling the brown bangs that fan out across his forehead. "Phoebe, they're our friends."

"Which is even more of a reason not to tell them," Phoebe says with a wide, pleading smile. Dylan frowns and melts into his chair because both of them know it doesn't take much from Phoebe to get Dylan to give in.

She hates seeing Dylan so sad, she really does, but what he's imagining is fantasy. In a perfect world they can be careless and happy and together in front of everyone. In reality, there'd be all the looks of disgust and the harsh whispers from strangers and friends alike. Then there's their mom and Frank and that's a bridge no one wants to cross.

What she can cross is the space between her and Dylan. Each step feels so hard like there are weights on her feet, physically trying to keep her from him. When she reaches him, Dylan welcomes her with open arms and she curls into his lap. Her hand flies to his forearm, fingers groping at his bare flesh like he's a life preserver at sea. Phoebe presses her face into the crook of his neck and he threads his fingers through her hair.

It's these moments that cease to amaze the both of them. At one point they were both so convinced that this was purely an act of comfort or maybe a moment of weakness, using one another to release some sort of pent-up sexual frustration. But, no. It's more and that's obvious in those cherished moments when they're not ripping each other's clothes off, but just enjoying the other's presence, simply being together.

"Promise not to kiss me during the song and I think they'll like it," Phoebe teases, her lips brushing the column of his neck ever so slightly.

"I say we text em' all to go home and just make out already," Dylan suggests, smiling when he feels her body tremble with her sweet laughter.

"AND WE'RE WALKING DOWN THE STAIRS NOW!!!! YUP, WE'RE RIGHT HERE!!!"

Phoebe laughs softly and swiftly changes seats. Leave it to Brooke. No, not obvious at all.

"AND WE'RE HERE!" Brooke shouts, jumping off the last step and landing with her arms out and wrists folded like she's a skilled gymnast that just perfected a tricking landing. Rodge and Silver follow close behind and appear to be attached at the hip and not fighting. It's a miracle.

"Damn, B, what's with all the flailing? You're sure as hell lucky you're hot," Rodge laughs and playfully slaps Brooke's ass as he walks by. She gasps. He chuckles. Next thing you know, Brooke Ferris, rising pop sensation, is pulling on the trim of the briefs beneath Rodge's skinny jeans, trying to give the school's womanizer a wedgie.

"Fuck you, crazy bitch! Brooke, get off me!" Rodge shouts as he loses his footing and falls to the floor, bringing down the determined brunette with him.

"Sweet," Silver says sarcastically, sitting on the corner of the coffee table and neatly crossing her legs. She angles her camera just right, capturing her pathetically floundering boyfriend and her best friend who's having a bit too much fun with this. "One minute we're talking about how much we've missed hanging out and the next she's jumping my boyfriend."

"Damn, if B's on the floor, he must have deserved it," Hunter commentates as he walks in and looks at the hot mess wrestling and his brother losing to a girl. Hunter has a can of orange soda in one hand and a plate of cake in the other. He sits on the table beside Silver and offers her the cake with a kind smile.

Silver narrows her eyes suspiciously. "What's this?"

"Cake," Hunter answers, his head tilted, slightly confused. "Duh…"

"What'd you do to it?"

"You said you wanted it," he answers, sipping his soda. Silver takes it cautiously and Hunter rolls his eyes. "You're welcome, your majesty."

"God, at this point we should name the band ADHD Jungle," Dylan comments harshly and stands to cross the room. He swipes his finger across the frosting of Silver's cake and licks his finger clean. He then reaches down and yanks a rather satisfied Brooke off a disheveled Rodge. Needless to say he feels like a daycare attendant.

"You said you wanted to show us something," Hunter reminds the North siblings who instantly get down to business with sheet music and everything. By the smiles and the head nods, the twins are in favor of the song Phoebe and Dylan have been slaving over for days.

Meanwhile, Silver and Brooke are in the backroom of the basement. Brooke is hovering over the sink in the small bathroom and staring at her reflection in the mirror, trying to properly part her hair. Silver's right outside, sitting atop the washing machine, tasting the last remaining licks of frosting from her pink lips.

"Listen, B, I don't have a thing for Hunt."

"You better not," Brooke playfully sneers, poking her head out the bathroom door long enough to stick her tongue out at Silver. "If there's a chance you'll object when we're at the altar then I'm so knocking you out of the wedding party."

"You're such a freak," Silver laughs amused.

"Right," Brooke sings in that cheeky way that Silver finds absolutely infuriating. "Just like how William wasn't taking stalker pictures of me today."

"Wow, that's a new level of pathetic," Silver says, throwing her head back with a laugh. "Is that where all these wedding plans with Hunter came from? You're hoping William will overhead and back off?"

"No, I talk about marrying Hunter because it's fun and I totally will if you don't get to him first," Brooke explains with a giggle. "Scaring off William is just a happy bonus."

Silver groans, leaning back. "I thought you said you got closure."

"I did," Brooke assures her, hopping up to sit atop the washing machine beside her childhood best friend. Silver raises a dark eyebrow, clearly in disbelief. "After I broke up with him, he was crying so I got him drunk, you know, to ease the pain and I actually waited till he passed out before I ditched him."

"Love em' and leave em' Brooke Ferris." Silver's tone seems scolding though Brooke can only grin with pride. Silver sees her opportunity and clears her throat. "So, um, what else do you know about that Christina girl?"

"Not much, really," Brooke shrugs, "I dropped out a couple months after she transferred in so we only cheered together a couple time and history with that bitch, Mrs. Pool, but yeah, sweet, quiet, preppy and proud. That's Christina. Why?"

"Do you think…she'd have a thing for, I don't know, Rodge?"

Brooke groans. "Silver, we've been over this."

"I'm not jealous, just curious," Silver huffs. "Now answer the question."

Stubborn as always, Brooke holds out her pinky. "Promise me you won't do anything to Christina Beardsley or send someone else to do something to her. She isn't bad, Silver."

"Who do you think I am, the Godfather?" Silver laughs, linking their little fingers. "I promise. Now I want a straight answer, Ferris. Do you think she has a thing for Rodge?"

"I think you should ask someone who actually goes to New London," Brooke says, but then Silver shoots her a warning look and she sighs. "Maybe, okay? I mean, when she first transferred here she had a thing for Nick De Pietro so obviously she isn't immune to confident jerks."

"Ugh, that guy's a tool," Silver groans.

"But a great kisser," Brooke muses, biting on her bottom lip. Appalled, Silver slaps the giggly brunette on the arm. "Well, that's what Phoebe told me! I'm strictly speaking from Phoebe's retelling of stories, of course."

Silver narrows her eyes. "Slut."

Brooke laughs. "Prude."

Before the girls can go on with a childish yet traditional round of name-calling, they hear something that seems to tickle the interest of both girls.

"Holy crap!" Brooke explodes, jumping down from the washing machine.

"I know," Silver mumbles, following her friend's lead. "It actually sounds like music."

…

"I don't like that you like that jerk."

"William," Christina deeply exhales, staring out at the dimming day. The sun has already set though the horizon is still vaguely outlined with light. The little children are dispersing a handful at a time and the two oldest Beardsley kids are out on the front porch, enjoying a warm spring night.

"You look miserable," William shoots out before Christina can even protest. He forces a smile and tugs on a blonde lock. "Hmm, hate to break it to you, sis, but your hair seems to be your only light aspect these days."

"I was thinking of dying it anyways," Christina says dully before shooting eyes like daggers over at her brother. "And you're one to talk, Cheer Bear Stalker Boy."

William grits his teeth. "I wasn't talking."

"Camera's don't lie, Will. I think even Brooke noticed you snapping shots at her," Christina points out. She laughs, but it isn't able to enjoy the full effect of teasing her brother in her current state.

"But see, you're moping over an idiot with no future that you weren't even in a relationship with," William explains and Christina groans, realizing it sounds even stupider aloud. "I was in love with Brooke Ferris. It was the hold a radio over my head in the middle of the night, hopelessly devoted real deal thing and she chose her career over me. If you can take comfort in anything, at least you didn't tell him you're in love with him."

"No, not even I'm that stupid," Christina spits and William feels somewhat proud. "He, um, did tell me though."

William's eyes are bulging. "Tell you what?"

"He thinks he might be in love with me," Christina says with a woeful smile. She thinks of those on-edge three minutes were Silver went inside the lighthouse for one reason or another and Rodge pulled her aside to talk. He seemed so desperate yet genuine and Christina had to admit, she was getting roped right back into the world of Rodge.

"He's got to be lying. Chris, Rodger Montgomery is the type of guy that will say anything to get you in bed and that's a fact," William says strong. A blush creeps up across William's strong face and he thoughtfully stares at his sister. "Christina, you didn't…"

"Seriously, if I dye this then will people take me seriously?" she asks, twisting a lock of her gorgeous blonde hair around one finger. "Of course I haven't had sex with Rodge. Again, William, I'm not that stupid."

William straightens his posture and clears his throat. "Well, good…"

"It's just…when he's with me, just the two of us talking, he's different…sweeter," she reminisces, allowing her facial features to soften. "And I like that it's a side to him he tries to hide, but he chooses to show it to me…it doesn't matter now."

"Yes it does matter," William argues. "I'm graduating and I don't think I could go to Harvard, knowing that I didn't even try one last time with Brooke. And Rodge, he's graduating too. There's no telling what he's doing after and I hear Silver's going off to Yale so there won't be anything keeping him here."

Christina blinks a few times. Okay, now the hair color is kicking in.

"I don't understand," she openly admits. "What do you mean, William?"

"I mean, we're going to get them back," William says, an optimist's dream, that boy is. Christina smiles, purely because she knows her brother and she can already feel those gears turning in his head.

"We're going to get them back," Christina confirms though internally, she drowns in her pessimistic ways. How do you get something back, if you never had it in the first place?

…

"That song kicks ass!" Brooke howls, clapping her hands and jumping up and down. "For once I don't have to lie to you guys when you ask me what I think about your song."

"The cookie cutter pop star's got a point," Silver agrees with the slightest hint of a smile on her plush lips. "You guys are better than I remembered."

"That's a real compliment coming from the future Miss Music Exec," Dylan teases as he thrust his fingers through his hair, drenched with perspiration. When their band practiced, it wasn't warming up or going through the motions, it was a full on performance with head-banging, fingers blistering, feet-aching one-hundred percent energy.

"Speaking of music execs, I was supposed to swing by the studio like─" Brooke checks the screen of her cell phone, "─two hours ago…shit, Nate's going to kill me!"

Everyone watched, bewildered, as Brooke grabbed her purse off the dingy basement couch and jets off. All is still for a moment before they heard the thunderous clacking of her heels. Only Brooke would come right back to distribute hugs and goodbyes.

"This was really great," Brooke gushes as Dylan encases her in his arms and she quietly teases him about things only the two of them know. Giggling incessantly, she presses her forehead to his before jumping and capturing both Silver and Phoebe in her outstretched arms. "I really missed all of you, surprisingly even Rodge."

"I didn't miss you," Rodge scowls. "You hurt my ass."

"But I won't kiss it," Brooke says cheekily, fisting the front of Rodge's shirt and reeling him in to press a sloppy kiss to his pouting face. Rodge soon gives in and hugs her tightly, grinning like a little kid on Christmas. Shoving him away, Brooke laughs, "What part of 'I'm marrying your brother' don't you get?"

"The whole thing," Rodge groans. "People as beautiful as us aren't meant for marriage!"

"I'll remember that one." Brooke rolls her eyes and goes to bid Hunter a goodbye.

"Babe," Rodge says near her hair and Silver feels so good because he's here with her and the only people they can truly call their friends and he's sober. "Babe, I think it's time to call it a night."

"Yeah, let's go back to my place," she purrs, cuddling close. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Awesome," Rodge grins, but there's something about the way he's looking at her. It doesn't feel very good. "It's just…some guys invited me to a party downtown and I want to go."

She sits up, alarmed. "Rodge."

"Silver," he sighs irritably. "Look, no more lies and sneaking away. We promised this time we'd be real with each other so I'm telling you I'm going to go, hang for a bit, a game of pool or two and that's it. I know you aren't into Devin and partying anymore so Hunt will bring you home and I'll come over later, okay?"

"No," Silver says simply, sharply pulling away from him.

Rodge scowls, looking around at all his friends. Dylan is sitting with his guitar, trying not to stare. Phoebe is full on staring like it's some live teen drama and Brooke, who's sitting in Hunter's lap, looks like she's about to interject, but the levelheaded twin holds her back.

"Great, here's the big dramatic scene," Rodge says unenthusiastically, slouching into the couch. "What's it this time, Silver? Because I got somewhere to be and unlike you guys I'm loyal to my friends."

"Oh God," Silver chuckles bitterly, "Rodge, that guy isn't your friend and he doesn't deserve friends! After what he did to Dylan─"

"Silver," Dylan breaks in, giving the explosive brunette a desperate look. "It's okay."

Silver stands, both literally and figuratively up on her soapbox. "Like we're honestly going to sit around and pretend like the summer didn't happen? It did. Devin is a drug dealer and Dylan almost died and that bastard didn't even come to visit the hospital, not once."

"My brother isn't a drug dealer," Brooke says quietly and the entire room goes silent. "Wasting his life away, hell yeah, drinks too much, sure, but he isn't a drug dealer."

"And this is why we haven't talked since the day Dylan was released," Silver says softly, arms crossed and her eyes away from Brooke even though that's who she's clearly talking to.

"Lovely party," Brooke sneers, getting up and heading to the door once again.

"B, wait! Don't leave mad!" Hunter calls, standing, ready to chase after her.

"Give me a ride to the party?" Rodge asks out of the blue and Silver turns to him, looking so betrayed and angry. Brooke nods weakly and Rodge quickly follows her, ignoring the looks he's getting from everyone around. He lifts his hand in a peace sign behind his head before they disappear out the back door.

Dylan groans and smacks his palm against his forehead. "Why won't you just let it go, Silver?"

"Seriously? After I defended your sorry ass like that?" she balks, eyes narrowed in an intense glare, teeth gritting. "What? Getting a call from Hunter in the middle of the night that leaves me scared shitless? Practically living in that hospital waiting room? Promising God that if my idiot friend survives what's easily his greatest fuckup yet that I'll give up all the drinking and the parties? Shit, Dylan, I'll never let that go."

He looks up and their eyes lock. He's pulled in by that deep shade of cerulean and the water that glazes her orbs. In one quick movement, Dylan crosses the space that divides them and she simply crumbles in his arms.

"R-Rodge, h-how does he not get it?" Silver cries tears laced with mascara. Her hair is all which ways, orbiting her head. She looks a beautiful mess. "If Devin didn't give you those pills th-then none of that shit would have happened a-and─"

"It's alright, S. It was a wakeup call for all of us," Dylan sooths her as she continues to cry and babble on. He holds her tight and feels a salty tear trace the curve of his neck. Phoebe moves closer to them, stroking Silver's hair in a comforting manner and Hunter stays close by despite his brother and "future wife" who are long gone.

Dylan always knew that if one of his friends was to leave him hanging, it's most likely to be Rodge. Brooke leaving too, now that was straight out of left field.

* * *

**Author's note: **Ah, it felt like a lot of filler, but for that, the next chapter should come sooner. What did you think about this chapter?


	16. Wow

**Temporary Insanity**

**Chapter Fifteen: Wow **

"I'm not gonna lie. Last night…was a total and complete car crash."

"No, really?" Phoebe asks lightheartedly as she leans in the doorway, looking over at the boy with the cast, spending a lazy Sunday in bed. Taking advantage of the Beardsley being at Sunday school and the Norths out at the Farmer's Market, Phoebe easily sneaks in and slips into bed beside Dylan who smiles gently and kisses her quickly on the forehead. They lie there together, both quietly staring up at the ceiling.

"I've never seen Silver like that," Dylan confesses, gentling curling a finger around a lock of Phoebe's hair. "I─I didn't know what happened to me…made her feel like that…"

"I could have told you if I was actually home," Phoebe sings with an innocent pout, but Dylan shakes his head, firmly believe it was better the way she found out.

"Brooke too," Dylan mumbles hoarsely. "I've never seen her defend Devin."

"Well, they've been through a lot together," Phoebe reminds him. "Their parents suck and were never around so growing up, all they had was each other. I mean, it's obvious Brooke isn't proud of the way her brother lives, but he still is her brother."

"Hmm, I never thought of it that way…"

"Like, if someone called you a scrawny Lennon wannabe pill popper or William something equally as offensive but true then I'd probably have a bitch fit like Brooke did last night," Phoebe continues with a teasing little smile.

Dylan gives her a look. "I'm oddly flattered yet somewhat offended."

Phoebe laughs, stroking his bangs with the tip of her fingers. "Brooke and Silver aside," Phoebe says softly, "What's going on with Rodge? He couldn't spend and enjoy one night away from that place, seriously? If I was Silver I'd just dump his ass once and for all."

"He's scared," Dylan says simply. "Rodge is at that point in his life where he doesn't know how to deal with anything so he parties and gets shitfaced so he doesn't have to think about his problems. This thing with Silver, graduating, Battle of the bands. I don't really blame the guy."

"I know, but he's turning eighteen this year," Phoebe says, sitting up a bit and leaning back into the headboard. "He's going to need to start making decisions whether he likes it or not."

Dylan hums in agreement. "Speaking of decisions, you hear from NYU yet?"

"No, and it's honestly driving me insane," Phoebe shutters, suddenly looking so anxious. Dylan finds it cute, but knows she probably doesn't feel very cute at all.

"You act like you don't know you got in," Dylan laughs, so sure of himself.

Phoebe hits him lightly on the arm. "Hey, don't jinx it."

"So, what do you want to do today?"

Phoebe sighs with falling lids and snuggles deep into the pillow that smells of Dylan's cologne and the detergent their mother uses. Softly, she answers, "Just lie here."

"If I lay here," Dylan sings softly and he can already see the smile tugging at Phoebe's lips. He finds her hand beneath the covers and gently entwines their fingers. "If I just lay here, will you lie with me and just forget the world?"

"Hmm, Snow Patrol totally got it right with that song, huh?"

Dylan snuggles in beside her. "Yeah, they really did."

…

Mumbling angrily beneath her breath, Brooke moves through what was once her childhood home, stepping on crushed plastic cups, cans of beer and the occasional passed out partygoer. The house is a mess, but with his strong speaking Spanish and money from mommy and daddy, Devin will convince the maids to have everything cleaned up in no time.

Brooke has always had an interesting relationship with her brother. He's three years older, but at one point they were practically twins. When her father was off on business in New York or maybe Prague or Dubai this week, it was always Devin who'd walk her from the limo to the middle school, Devin who'd threaten the cooks if they forgot to pack her lunch and he'd always keep her company during particularly bad thunderstorms.

As they grew up, Devin got into some trouble. He hung out with the wrong people, stayed out all night and slept all day, but he still managed to take care of Brooke ─ talking when she needed it, beating the crap out of certain boys and making sure she kept her grades descent so that spot as cheer captain was always hers. Their relationship was so strong she stood by her brother through what happened to Dylan, that her brother didn't force feed him pills.

The one thing that did definitely draw a rift in her tight-knit relationship with her brother was her record deal. Her newfound passion for music had her out of the parties and in the studio, working on her first album. The day her first single made the top 40, all she wanted was to celebrate with her brother, but when she found him, Devin was already passed out.

Her brother may be rough around the edges, but he isn't a drug dealer. Brooke's sure.

"Ugh, how did I end up here?" a groggy voice asks, coming into the kitchen. Brooke looks up from her bowl of cereal and the sight sickens her. Rodge, shirtless with pants unbuttoned and fly down, stumbles into the room with his hair all askew and eyes barely open. She may be pissed at Silver, but it makes her sick what Rodge is doing.

"You and my brother, a couple other guys and a bunch of whores came barging in at like three in the morning," Brooke recalls, filling her bowl with milk. "Something about the party getting lame and bringing it back here."

"Right," Rodge nods. "Did we ruin 'Bring It On' for you?"

"Wow, _you_ were coherent enough to know what was on my TV?" Brooke asks with her famous smile featuring those dimples. "I must say I'm impressed, Rodge."

"B, I was so fucked up last night I have no recollection of coming here," Rodge confesses hoarsely, massaging his temples with long, calloused fingers. Then he looks up at her with those killer eyes and smiles through the pain. "You always watch 'Bring It On' when you're upset especially with Silver. She's the same way. It's Hitchcock movies all damn night."

Brooke can't help, but smile. It's moments like this, the little things he notices and commits to memory, which reminds her of why she puts up with Rodge time after time.

He sighs woefully and it isn't a sound she likes. "I fucked up, B."

"Hmm, what's her name?"

"What?"

"The slut you woke up with. The fuck up. What's her name?" Brooke elaborates rather harshly. Rodge looks guilty, staring down at the expensive marble counter and Brooke frowns. It's not a good look on him and not a look Brooke has seen him sport prior to this morning.

"Don't know," Rodge laughs miserably. "I have no clue at all…"

"Don't sweat it," Brooke says coolly, doing everything in her power to keep from punching him in the throat till he's on the ground and then kicking him with her bare feet. Cheating is unacceptable. "I'm Brooke. I don't judge."

"Thanks, B, but that doesn't make me feel any less like shit," Rodge sighs, eyeing a pack of cigarettes on the counter. He lazily fishes one from the carton and lights the end, brining the paper to his lips. "You know, I never cheated on her before this…"

Brooke can't help, but snort. "It's done, Rodge. No use lying about everything now."

"Seriously," Rodge says, deeply inhaling and breathing out a cloud of smoke. "I flirt and play around and I made out with Cecilia McBride _once_, but that's just who I am, you know? Every time I actually hooked up with a girl, Silver and were I broken up. This…this was the fuck up that seals the break up."

"Wow," Brooke says, her spoon hanging halfway out of her mouth. "First off, that was grade-A songwriting material right there and two, wow, Rodge Montgomery actually has a conscience…"

"Mind-blowing, isn't it?" Rodge asks laughingly and Brooke's too shocked to respond. He inspects the cigarette between his fingers before breathing it all in. Exhaling, he sighs lowly, "She deserves better, don't she?"

"Don't even make me answer that," Brooke warns, not wanting to let her anger get the best of her and go into another rant about how Silver Silverberg sucks. "Here's a less obvious question…does Dev really deal?"

"Whoa," Rodge laughs. "Say that five times fast."

"No," Brooke says sharply. "I need to head to the studio in a bit so…"

"No. He doesn't deal drugs," Rodge says with a sigh. "He noticed D all down and specifically found a dealer to get those because he really thought it would help."

A wide grin appears on Brooke's face. "I knew it!"

"He may not be dealing, B, but he might as well be. His room is stocked," Rodge says in a hush tone, looking from left to right with suspicion and leaning in closer. "Speaking as friend, I gotta say he's in way over his head. Even I'm kinda…I don't know…"

"Worried?" Brooke supplies.

"Whatever," Rodge says, leaning back in his seat.

"Aww, you do care! Aww, Rodgie," Brooke coos and rounds the counter to embrace the skinny and shirtless teen in a tight, cheek-to-cheek embrace. Rodge squirms with half his cigarette perching on his fingertip, trying to keep the ashes off the pretty brunette. With her face buried into the crook of his neck, she breathes, "You know what you have to do, right?"

"Yeah," Rodge sighs, grinding his cigarette into the marble countertop, drawing a sad face. "I gotta break her heart one last time."

…

It's days like this and nights like the last that make Silver want to give in to alcoholism.

No, instead, she sits in a swivel chair, hair pulled back in a messy bun, thick-rimmed, square-shaped glasses on and works on that documentary she promised her high school counselor of an older sister. Her eyes are concentrated on the screen as she watches it over and over, editing, but mostly cutting out what sucks.

She doesn't know why she decided to take on this project. Oh yeah, if she ever had the guts to really run away to the west coast, being on good terms with her sister would really be helpful in scoring a free place to crash. Silver doesn't even know if she believes in love (most days she doesn't at all), but she keeps working at this. It also serves as a good distraction.

Silver didn't mean nor want to get so overemotional last night. She didn't mean to drive both Rodge and Brooke away, but she really does blame Devin for that lifestyle. After all, he was the one who introduced each and every one of them into drinking and smoking as a means of entertainment. And so far with Devin out of their lives, it's been better ─ her whole Rodge situation aside.

_Rodge_.

She hasn't gotten the routine apology text from him yet. Probably because her phone's off. Probably because she purposefully turned her phone off and has been listening to some Indie band from Sweden that isn't half bad. It's how she gets into her zone for when she's throwing her entire self into a project.

The only thing that can break her concentration is a loud, rattling bang.

Silver practically jumps out of her seat when she hears it over the music. Immediately, she turns down the volume, leaves her chair and goes to the balcony, drawing back the thick curtains that keep the room so dark it's up to par for a vampire. Cringing at the intensity of the sunlight, Silver takes a look through the glass and mumbles a, "what the fuck, Hunter…"

Because there he is, wearing swimming trunks and a wifebeater, showing off those delicious, evenly tanned arms of his. Silver stops for a moment, firmly slamming her forehead against the glass of the sliding door. No, she did not just think Hunter's arms are delicious! Not at all.

"Hunter, what the fuck are you doing?" Silver asks aloud this time, deciding a break couldn't hurt, and going out onto the balcony. She's immediately attacked by UV rays and squints, noticing how much more alluring the pool looks in the heat of spring.

"Your pool's under-chlorinated!" Hunter shouts up at her though as she leans against the railing, Silver doesn't even attempt to comprehend the incomprehensible.

"Sorry, Doctor Pool Boy," Silver teases, biting lightly on the tip of her tongue. "That doesn't explain what you're doing at my house so early, checking the chlorine levels of my pool!"

"I've always been your pool boy!" Hunter shouts back, wearing that goofy yet charming smile. Silver feels like he's pulling her leg. How could she have not noticed? "I come every third Sunday of the month. A while back, my dad tried to impress yours with how I was a pool boy for that summer back in seventh grade."

"God, I remember that," Silver scoffs. "You were totally in cougar city."

"Yeah, good times," Hunter reminisces with a smile, continuing his work. "You just wake up?"

"Hardly," Silver snorts, slumped against the railing of the balcony. "When you're done down there come up. There's something I want to show you."

"Cool," Hunter nods. "I got something for you too."

Once he finishes, Hunter appears in her doorway and finds Silver working diligently in front of her computer. However, he starts to shiver violently when he feels the temperature in her room. He feels and sees the goose bumps that form along his forearms and shivers. It's practically artic weather in there.

Despite freezing his ass off, Hunter can't help but stop and stare for a moment. He watches the way Silver's eyebrows furrow in frustration and how her slim fingers fly across the keyboard. Her face is completely void of makeup and those glasses that remind him of third grade make a comeback.

"Hey," he calls to her. "You do know it's freezing in here, right?"

"Well, if you wore a real shirt for a change," Silver trails off, smiling. "What's up, Jock Boy?"

"I figured you wouldn't be too happy if I couldn't find the keys to the shed and had to resort to waking you. So I thought I'd bring a peace offering just incase and I remembered how you love cake for breakfast. Don't worry. It's Bliss. None of that corporate sellout crap you hate."

Silver eyes him cautiously. "What kind of cake?"

"What else?" Hunter laughs, "Buttermilk and chocolate frosting, your favorite."

Silver twists in her swivel chair and smiles. "How sweet of you," she comments before narrowing her eyes, "…Hunt, are you sure there's no ulterior motive here?"

He chuckles at her suspicion and draws closer, kicking the door with the side of his foot. It flies, but doesn't quite meet the doorframe and is left ajar. He carefully sets the coffee down on her desk and honestly admits, "After last night, I thought you'd need a little pick-me-up."

Silver doesn't respond right away, but when she does, it's with a laugh.

"Remember the old days where Brooke would always be off with some guy and Rodge passed out somewhere and Dylan convinced he's writing some amazing song, but his handwriting's so bad the next morning he can't read any of it?" Silver reminisces with a faint smile. "Then I'd somehow convince you to bake with me."

"With some obscure horror flick you love so much playing in the background," Hunter adds. "Man, I've got the burns on my hands as reminders. Hey, what about that one time we got really wasted and really frustrated because, well, we suck at baking so we stormed Pedro's house and demanded he give us a copy of his recipe?"

Silver laughs, "He banished us from Bliss bakery for a whole week after that stunt."

"Well, even men who look like cherubs need beauty sleep," Hunter jokes, crossing the rather large room and making himself comfortable on her bed. "So what are you working on this time? Dog food in the cafeteria's recycled meat sloppy Joes or the administration paying for teenage honor students to have abortions?"

"Neither," Silver answers, but then looks thoughtful. "Is the New London school board really paying those honor bitches to have abortions? Oh, that's a whole new level of evil."

Hunter chuckles huskily, "Concentrate, Silver."

"Riight," she says, mentally noting to look into the abortion case. "Ah, I'm still working on this thing for my sister. You know, the documentary about the definition of _love_−" he's amused by her air quotes around the word, "−from people I met trawling the mall."

"Hmm," he hums with interest, "and how's that going?"

"Yeah, it's all really barf inducing but I'm hoping I can do a favor for my sister and she can't say no when I ask her for one in return," Silver says, feeling rather proud of herself.

Hunter smirks mischievously, "Do I get to see it?"

"No," she scowls at the very suggestion. "I never show anything to anyone in the production stage. Not even Rodge has laid eyes on this baby and you know how nosy he can be."

"Silver, Silver, Silver," he sings and slowly comes up to her. With Silver distracted by the mischief on his beautiful face, Hunter snatches the Bliss bag from her and Silver audibly gasps. "I brought you cake. _Bliss cake_. You're lucky I'm not asking you for a finger."

"Fine! Now give it!" she cracks sooner than he anticipated, grabbing at him to get to the bag. Hunter pulls away, nodding to the screen. "God, okay, just keep in mind that it's really rough and I'm interviewing you after," Silver explains hurriedly, desperate for what she knows is coming. He drops the bag into her lap and Silver shoves spoonfuls of cake into her mouth.

Hunter laughs, "how attractive of you."

"I know, right," Silver mumbles, mouth full and all. With her pinkie finger, she hits the playback button and is extremely amused by the thoughtful way he's watching something she's evidently been working hard on.

"_I've been married fifty years, sweetie," an older white-haired woman explains. The camera cuts to a clip of the same woman sitting in a wheelchair, being pushed by a man who is assumed to be her husband. He stops shortly and they change places so that she's now pushing him in the wheelchair. _

"_Love is about trust, sugar," the elderly woman continues, "it's about trusting someone to love you even if you aren't perfect."_

_The camera zooms out to show the woman's husband who's tightly holding her hand and smiling with such joy. He chuckles, "Like this old woman's crazy obsession for cats. Lucille and I have five, but you don't see me complaining!" _

"_Oh, shut it, Harrison," the woman scolds her husband with a playful slap to his arm. Her voice is mock venomous but her eyes are absolutely shinning. _

Silver watches Hunter watch her documentary. She watches the way his eyes shine and the smile that grows across his face. Oh you poor dork, she thinks, you believe in love.

_A girl in a cheerleading outfit appears on the screen. "Love is like the hottest, most popular girl in school dating the hottest most popular guy and then like getting married and getting rich and like buying a summer house in the Hamptons. Duh." _

"I think I dated that girl once," Hunter muses aloud, laughing to himself.

Silver rolls her eyes and Hunter keeps his glued to the screen.

"_Love is about taking risks," says a young man in a black turtleneck and dark sunglasses. He's sipping espresso and has a book containing the greatest works of Shakespearean lying beside his steaming cup. "Love is about finding a connection so deep that you're willing to put everything on the line to see it through. You know?" _

"_Not really," Silver's voice floats through the speakers. _

"_Well, I could show you," the young man grins. "How about I buy you coffee?" _

"_Yeah, I'm seventeen, you pervert," Silver retorts. _

Silver quickly hits the stop button, almost afraid to see Hunter's reaction. "Yeah, it isn't my best work," she spits out the first, most obvious truth, "and it isn't finished. I've got about twelve more interviews to add in and look at the concept and what I have to work with─"

"I envy you," Hunter says bluntly and Silver's taken aback for a moment. She turns to face him, a bit puzzled. "I envy how you're so good at something you love to do and you get to pursue it. I wish I had that."

"Um, I know you're a jock and all, but you can't possibly be so slow you forgot what named you King Jock, right?" Silver asks and Hunter guiltily looks away. "Oh my god, the King Jock hates football!"

"I don't hate football," Hunter is quick to correct. "I like sports. It's fun when you're just hanging out or bored or have time to kill…"

"But it isn't something you want to pursue," Silver nods understandingly. Hunter nods back. Frowning slightly, Silver gazes down at her fork of cake before offering it over to Hunter. He looks a bit hesitant, uncertain about Silver Silverberg holding point objects towards his mouth, but he still tentatively parts his lips and she feeds him a bite. They chew in silence, but then Hunter sees Silver's camera and easily takes it in his hands, pointing it at her.

"So what's love, Silver Silverberg?" Hunter asks in the best professional voice he can muster. Silver laughs because they both know this won't be making the documentary and sways gently in her chair.

"Hmm, love is just some elaborate fantasy created by corporate suits looking to control a nation of consumer zombies to sell extremely overpriced pieces of stock paper with nauseating sentimental lies in fancy fonts."

"Wow," Hunter says, rather stunned. Silver tries to shield her face from the camera and Hunter zooms in on her, laughing with that signature sexy half-smile of his. "Just…wow."

"Hey buddy, you asked," Silver says, reaching for her camera. "C'mon, I wanna hear yours."

"Heh," he fakes a laugh and spins away from her, holding the camera way over her head and just out of her reach. "I'd rather not, Silver."

"Aw, the little jock is shy," she teases and succeeds in slipping her camera out of his hands. Silver gives him a rough shove on the chest and Hunter clumsily tumbles onto her unmade bed. She bites excitedly on the tip of her tongue and redirects the camera. "So New London's hometown hero, what is your personal definition of love?"

Hunter coyly rubs the back of his neck, looking up at Silver through his lashes. "Really, Silver, how am I supposed to follow your magnificent performance?"

"Aw, come on, I'll tell you what I told all those others," she mumbles distractedly, zooming up on his brilliant glassy eyes. "Just…be real and say whatever comes to you."

"Love is…" he starts seriously though his tight lipped expression soon dissolves with a chuckle. His discomfort is obvious in the way his arms are crossed over his chest though his eyes meet hers and his shoulders relax ever so slightly.

"Sure, it may take some people longer than others to figure it all out, but I think love is two people who just _know_," he explains and the honesty in each and everyone one of his mannerisms is quite beautiful.

Silver gasps, realizing, she's been holding her breathe the entire time.

"How do you _just know_, you ask?" Hunter smiles for the camera. "Well, it's not what you do for me or what everyone else says or what you can give me or even your qualities I like. It's just _you_ and your presence that I care about and it overrides everything. It makes the sun shine brighter and everything taste better…and well, that's my love."

"And who's this shout-out to?" she asks cynically, forgetting all about her camera and the film still rolling. "Brooke or Christina Beardsley?"

Hunter laughs heartily and stands from the edge of her bed. Every step he takes forward, she stumbles further back. She collects herself and zooms in on those eyes of his and then the corner of his lips that pull back ever so slightly.

"Harrison and Lucille," Hunter smiles. "Anything else, Miss Silverberg?"

"Well," she starts, feeling a bit nervous and not knowing why. "If anything, I want to know how many different Hallmark cards you had to read and how the hell you fit all of that mush into your jock-sized brain."

"I'm not stupid," he shakes his head, "and I've never met my Lucille. Not yet anyways…"

"I have something to show you," Silver suddenly says, racing over to her desk where sits her desktop computer and a clutter of other technological devices and miscellaneous cords. She looks so frantic and flustered; Hunter can't help but appreciate this rare side to her.

She minimizes her editing program and the picture on her Desktop has Hunter feeling the crushing effects of nostalgia. It's four kids, two girls and two boys, not more than eight-years of age, sitting by the water just as the sun's about to set. The girls look as beautiful as always, sitting with arms linked. Brooke mid-laugh, mouth open and Silver sitting idly.

It's the boys that are tummy-gripping, tear-producing laugh-worthy, so different compared to how they appear today. The picture shows Rodge trying to be tough with a crew-cut, missing every other tooth and Hunter with wild curly hair and a gap between his two front teeth.

"Wow, we were dorks," Hunter can't help, but comment.

"Pshh, _you_ were the dork," Silver corrects, beaming. "_I _was a rock star even back then."

Hunter lets her have this one even as he shakes his head behind her. Silver opens a video saved to the Desktop and fasts forward a bit before hitting the play button.

"_Phoebe, just trust me."_

There's this look on Hunter's face as he watches the footage Silver technically stole from Naoko North with good reason, of course. His eyebrows are sort of crooked, his forehead wrinkled and jaw completely dropped. The scene plays, all before their very eyes, the talking and the kissing and the dogs and Naoko and Silver coming in. Then it stops.

And Hunter, eloquent Hunter with his impressive and breathtaking definition of love, cannot utter a word beyond, "Wow."

* * *

**Author's note: **Yeah, this story is _long_. Big thanks to _**itsi3 **_and _**musicisinmysoul **_who are like the only people reading this story. lol I'm so determined to get to the end of this story and it's all because of you. Thanks.


	17. These Words, Those Secrets

**Temporary Insanity **

**Chapter 17: These Words, Those Secrets**

"_There's been a minor setback, D. The company just wants you, not the entire band." _

That's the single sentence that keeps him awake late at night. It isn't his current GPA after all the days of school he's missed this year. It isn't the ever-dreaded SATs which he thinks he'll be putting off till senior year. Instead, Dylan North stays up at night, thinking about those harsh words that shattered his happily ever after.

He's become pretty good friends with Nate, the music producer and secret boyfriend of one Brooke Ferris. He really should be spending his free time in a library making up assignments and that's what he tells everyone he's doing, but when that bell rings and he sees Brooke Ferris out in the front parking lot, sporting a tight-lipped impatient expression, Dylan can't get off campus fast enough.

He loves the studio. He loves how he's greeted with a smile every time he walks in through those giant double doors and how there's always his favorite cookies waiting for him. Most of all, he loves spending hours singing into a microphone that looks new and shiny, and being able to learn from the playbacks. He can leave all his problems at the door and just concentrate on the music.

Not anymore though.

Dylan's given a CD to Nate who then passed it along to the big bosses. They love his voice. They love his look. They imagine teenage girls eating up every word and falling in love with Dylan North. They don't, however, love the music in the background. The bass always sounds out of place and the drums need to be tighter. The guitar is descent, but they're just looking for a fuller, more professional and clean sound. Basically, they want him to drop the band.

"Hey stranger," a voice says from behind and he feels these fingernails rake down his spine. Dylan shutters and turns quickly to see a bubbly blonde wearing fishnets and an all-black studded belt. Her eyes are dark and smoky and her hair is up, exposing that collarbone that was once his kryptonite.

"Cecelia," Dylan says, attempting to be as cheery as her. He fails, however, quite miserably and she notices because that bright, carefree smile of hers noticeably dims.

Leaning back against the lockers, Cecelia looks a bit worried and she has reason to. Sighing, Dylan sluggishly pulls open the door of his locker and there she sees it. She sees the Where's Fluffy? Button she gave him, the one with Evan E's autograph in Sharpie. His fingers curl around the cool plastic and with his hair all in his eyes, he turns to her.

Dylan can already see the tears building behind her eyes. It breaks his heart because they were once so close. They were once two silly kids who'd run around town at three in the morning, hand-in-hand, him tagging every wall in sight and her giggling beside him. He remembers laughing for hours and smiling for days.

"I can't…have this," Dylan says slowly, extending his arm and showing her the pin.

"It was a gift, really," Cecelia tries to smile, but Dylan can see her pain. He can feel it radiating off her in waves. "So I'll see around, right, D?"

"No," Dylan disagrees, his hand falling to her shoulder. "No, you won't."

"Oh," Cecelia says. Her voice cracking as she does. "That's, um, cool too…"

"Hey, c'mere," Dylan whispers soothingly, reeling her in with his one, working arm. He doesn't feel the tears on his chest because he knows her better than that. She won't cry. She doesn't cry. Not even in private, not even if she's dying on the inside.

"We're different now," he tells her what's always been right in front of them this entire time.

"Yeah," Cecelia chokes out in agreement and pulls back enough to stroke the curve of his cheek. "You take care of yourself, alright, Lennon? I─I loved you."

"I loved you too," he smiles, uncurling her fingers and placing the pin in the palm of her hand. He squeezes her fist and brushes his lips across the skin of her forehead. "You gonna be okay?"

"Duh," she rolls those bright blue eyes, hinted with water. She's trying to hard to hold herself together, Dylan's heart aches for her. Cecelia delicately waves her fingers as she pulls away and walks off right out of his life.

Dylan watches her back as she retreats down the hallway, her head hanging low as she does. Leaning back, Dylan notices that she doesn't look back. She doesn't chance one single glance back at him and that alone is reassurance that she'll be okay. She'll be just fine.

He takes a deep breath. The air tastes of closure.

"Dude!" a bellowing voice is accompanied by a hand slamming into the metal of the lockers at his back. It breaks Dylan free of his thoughts with a startled shutter. Rodge is looking up at him with his sharp jaw dropped and his light blue-almost gray eyes wide.

"Hey man," Dylan sighs, turning back to his locker. His thoughts are jumbled and he isn't too concerned with his homework, aimlessly shuffling and rustling loose papers. "Listen Rodge, I'm not really in the mood…"

"You just broke up with Cecelia McBride," Rodge states, bewildered and trying hard to conceal it. "Granted, I didn't even know you two were official again but DUDE!"

Dylan sighs irritably. "What do you want, Rodge?"

"Teach me how to break up," Rodge says with all seriousness and if he wasn't so down at the moment, Dylan's sure he would have laughed. Slamming his locker shut, Dylan stares at Rodge as if he was a hobo on fire, before turning and walking off. "Dylan, wait!"

"It's easy, man," Dylan lies, feeling a low ache in his chest as he does. "You just say 'hey, I wanna break up' and you stare and one of you will probably start crying or in Silver's case yelling and ─" Dylan freezes when it hits him, a look of alarm on his face. "Shit. You wanna break up with Silver?"

"I can't do it anymore, Dylan," Rodge says softly, looking from left to right. "I just _can't_."

"I don't know what to tell you, Rodge," Dylan sighs, pushing his bangs away from his eyes. "Last I heard from Hunt, you and Silver made up after that stupid thing at Aldo's party."

"We did," Rodge confirms, "which makes me feel even worse about breaking up with her because Silver hasn't even made up with Brooke yet. Dude, she puts me before her best friend. Is that an unintentional guilt trip or what?"

"God, I don't have time for this," Dylan groans and slaps his hand against his forehead. "Listen, I need to get home. I've been out every day after school and my mom's been asking questions."

"I'll drive," Rodge volunteers as he excitedly lifts his car keys with a Sailor Moon keychain dangling from the metal ring. Dylan never trusts Rodge behind the wheel, but it looks like he has no choice and nods despite his better judgment.

They walk out to the front parking lot and Dylan cringes when he sees Brooke Ferris leaning back against the side of her boyfriend's SUV, talking loudly with William. Dylan slaps his hand against his forehead for the second time, feeling the odd need to rat on Brooke to Nate even if it's just talking that looks suspiciously like flirting.

"Damn, our Brookie and Mr. Prez, back together again?" Rodge asks, sounding rather disapproving and protective towards the end. "Man, I never got what she saw in him. I mean seriously, look at his pants."

"Dude, speak for yourself," Dylan laughs lightly, looking down at Rodge's dark skinny jeans in comparison to William's khaki pants that scream Banana Republic. Rodge grunts irritably and they draw closer, arriving just in time to see William beaming and Brooke softly giggling.

"Hey lovebirds, what up?!" Rodge shouts across the way, which earning him a heated glare from their favorite cheery brunette. He leans in close to her, obviously finding enjoyment in the way William grows uncomfortable. "So when's the wedding again?"

"Late March, Plaza Hotel," Brooke answers through gritting teeth. A confused William looks to her and Brooke laughs, touching him lightly on the forearm. "Relax, Willy, it's just a little inside joke between me and the boys." William looks ready to respond when Brooke cuts him off. "So Dylan, you ready to go?"

"I gotta skip out today, B," Dylan tells her despite his deep inner need to hang out at the studio and blow off some steam after getting yelled by yet another teacher and probably breaking a girl's heart. "Rodge and I, uhh, have a project to work on."

William eyes them warily. "I didn't know you two have a class together…"

"What? Just because I ain't in AB classes like your preppy ass you think you're better than me, huh, Beardsley?" Rodge asks, all up in William's flabbergasted face. Dylan sighs and digs his fingers into the back of Rodge's v-neck, yanking him backwards.

"Simmer down, Rodger," Brooke warns, shooting him a look. "And they're _AP_ classes, idiot."

"You're totally missing the point, Brookie," Rodge says, arms crossed and lips poked out in a pout. "Man, I'm bored just standing here. Are we heading out or what, D?"

"Yeah," Dylan nods. "Tell Nate I'm sorry."

"Nate?" Brooke scowls, her hip jutted to the side and hand delicately perched there. "I'm the one who had to drive all the way out here to pick you up and for nothing!"

"Look at it this way," William interjects, smiling coyly. "You got to see me."

"Yeah," Dylan laughs. "Why don't you two talk about how Brooke was the last one in our room before that picture of you two disappeared?" Brooke looks embarrassed. William is curious and Dylan laughs to himself as he walks off with Rodge.

"So you stole my picture, huh?"

Never has Brooke Ferris thought she'd be standing here and tackling this particular question. Sure she remembers slipping that photograph free from the frame and discretely stuffing it into her back pocket. She thinks about how it's under her pillow right now and how ashamed she feels about it. She wouldn't be surprised if her face is bright red at the moment.

"Well, considering I'm in the picture too, it's partly mine isn't it?" Brooke asks, nervously swaying from side to side and picking at the material of her blouse. "And you can't steal something that you're part owner of."

"Smart, Miss Ferris," William grins, sweaty hands stuffed in his pockets. "Well, except for the whole admitting to taking the picture in the process of running me in circles."

"Did I now?" Brooke bites her lip. "Because, um, that was all hypothetical…"

"Oh it was?"

Brooke nods surely. "Yes. Yes, it was."

William shakes his head, laughing softly. "Whatever you say, Ferris…"

"And you can't be all broken up about me repossessing a picture of us when you took about a million pictures of me at Aldo's birthday," Brooke brings up, knowing she has to share the embarrassment while this ship is already sinking.

"About that," William laughs nervously, rubbing his hand through the short strands of hair atop his head. "I guess you're gonna make me come out and say it, huh? Well, here it goes…I miss you, Brooke Ferris."

"Aww, sweetie, I miss you too," Brooke frowns for a moment and William can't help the giddy feeling that blooms deep within him. That is, until Brooke goes on to add, "They always say you can't be friends with an ex. Well, I'm glad we're different, Silly."

She uses his old nickname she created and it stings even worse.

"Yeah," William starts, smiling despite the sadness behind his eyes. "Friends…"

"Listen, I need to head back to the studio," Brooke says, pointing at the SUV behind them. "It's been nice talking these last couple of days. We should go out for ice cream some time and really catch up."

"Sounds great," William agrees a bit too quickly, seeing an in and diving at any chance to spend more time with the local music sensation. He watches as she gets into the SUV and starts up the engine. "You drive safe, Cookie."

"Kinda hard seeing as you're the one who taught me how," Brooke jokes and gives him her best wink before leaving the parking lot and driving off down the street.

William stares after her, more determined than ever before.

---

_If you could see that I'm the one who understands you  
Been here all along, so why can't you see?  
You belong with me, you belong with me_

"What the hell are you listening to?"

Christina freezes, sitting at her desk, taking a break from homework and aimlessly searching the J. Crew website despite the lack of money in her debit account. The blonde cringes, recognizing that teasing voice and praying to God that he hasn't been standing there long, listening to her miserably drone along with the song. Now that's all sorts of embarrassing.

"Rodge," she greets him happily, turning to the door so her shiny blonde locks fly over one shoulder. Her smile is wide and eyes begging he doesn't come any closer. "What are you doing here?"

"Just, you know, hanging out with Dylan. His mom wanted to talk to him and I decided to give the two some space," Rodge answers, inviting himself into the room and hopping onto Christina's perfectly made bed appose to Phoebe's that's unmade and cluttered with books and clothes. "Now, what'd you say this junk is?"

"Her name's Taylor Swift and it isn't junk," Christina says strongly, turning up her nose.

"My bad, Princess," Rodge says, rather amused by her quick defensiveness. "Man, I gotta get you listening to some _real_ music. You've heard of Sublime, right? At the very least, you know like Blink, right?"

Christina shakes her head in a no.

"Wow," Rodge says, appalled. "Tina, Blink 182? C'mon…"

Christina can't help the smile that creeps across her as Rodge sings softly.

_Look to the past  
And remember and smile  
And maybe__tonight  
I can breathe for awhile  
I'm not in the scene  
I think I'm fallin' asleep  
But then all that it means is  
I'll always be dreaming of you_

For one, Christina's never heard him sing before and it makes her feel less idiotic when she had been doing the same a couple minutes ago. His voice is rough and she'd suspect he's tone deaf if he isn't such a natural with his bass. Despite his shaky singing, the glee in his eyes is the reason she's smiling right now.

"You've never heard it?"

"Nope," Christina shakes her head, trying to fight off the smile that's made a home across her lips. "But I do know why you're the bassist and not lead singer…"

"Ouch, that really hurt, Tina," Rodge frowns and dramatically clutches his chest as if he's been shot or something. "You really know how to go for the low blow, don't yah?"

"I try," Christina says proudly, nervously twirling a finger in her hair. It grows awkwardly silent and the blonde turns back to her computer, choosing to look up random things on Wikipedia instead of addressing the sudden weirdness between them.

"So Tina, are you like…mad at me?"

"No," Christina says quickly. "What makes you think that?"

"I don't know," Rodge says, obviously beating around the bush. "You ignore me around school. You ignore me around here. You don't respond to my texts or answer my calls. I just wanna know what I did wrong."

"Nothing," Christina sighs. "I just…what you said at Aldo's party…"

Rodge blinks. "What did I say?"

Christina blinks too. "That you think you're falling in love with me…you couldn't have possibly meant it. I mean, we've only been hanging out these past few weeks and─"

She's interrupted by Rodge's loud, boisterous laughter. "Tina, ma, you're all upset over that? If I knew it'd lead to you ignoring me then I never would have said anything. You know, I thought that's what girls like to hear, keeps em' interested and all that."

"Aw, Rodge," Christina says, looking at the poor slump of a boy before her.

"Look, the only real relationship I've ever had was with Silver," Rodge explains, looking rather pained as he does so. "And if you haven't noticed, Silver and I ain't exactly normal. I don't know exactly how this courting thing works. It was too soon, wasn't it?"

"Too soon, yeah," Christina nods, thinking, maybe you should break up with your girlfriend before 'courting' another, but then is distracted by the fact that Rodge Montgomery used the word 'courting.' A bit frazzled, she mumbles on, "um, _way_ too soon…but you know what, I wouldn't mind hearing it…sometime in the future…"

Christina knows this is so awkward, but the way he's looking at her is entirely worth it.

"That sounds good," Rodge grins. "Real good…"

They stare at each other a bit and Christina doesn't know if her heart has been beating this fast this whole time or it started when their eyes met. She's glad for the vast space between them because if he was right there, next to her, touching her, she doesn't know if she could stop herself from willingly becoming _the_ _other woman_.

"Dude, this love thing is driving me nuts."

Rodge jumps. He literally feels his muscles go into spasms at the sound of that voice, one he's heard a million times, tearing him to shreds one moment just to soothe the inflicted wounds the next in their bipolar liaison. He doesn't have to turn to the door to know. Instead he looks at Christina with panic.

"It's Silver."

"Crap! What's she doing here?" Christina squeals and looks anxiously around the room. Rodge is on his feet, also looking around, but not knowing where to go. Both their eyes find the walk-in closet and Rodge runs over, flinging the door open and stuffing his lanky frame inside, closing the door behind him.

"No, really?" Phoebe asks with an amused little smile. Both girls enter the room, dropping their books and bags at the door. Phoebe's dressed in her usual earthy tones and Silver with a black bandana tied around her neck, making her look like a bank robber during a stickup.

Christina eyes this girl who's dragging her feet and groaning gloomily. She's built like a twig, not much muscle definition at all. Still, with her cerulean orbs outlined in thick, black eyeliner, her gaze is absolutely intimidating. She's Silver Silverberg. Christina's pretty sure the older girl could kick her ass.

"Hey Christina," Phoebe mumbles offhandedly, settling down on her bed with the spewed sheets hanging halfway off the mattress.

"H–hey," Christina stutters, anxious as she sits in front of her computer screen, tapping her fingers nervously against the keyboard. She feels Phoebe's presence behind her and instantly stiffens.

Phoebe laughs, "Why are you listening to Taylor Swift while reading about toothpaste on Wikipedia?"

Christina scrambles to turn off the music while stuttering a, "I, um…"

"She could have totally been looking up and even listening to worse," Silver pipes in, taking a look around the room shared by the two teenage opposites. "Hi. I don't think we ever properly met. I'm Silver," the girl introduces herself, looking miserable, but trying to make the best of it. Christina seems a bit hesitant, looking at the girl's forced smile and those eyes, the epitome of intimidation.

"Christina," the cheerleader gives the most winning smile she can offer.

"Wow, someone's been working on those people skills, huh?" Phoebe teases, slightly nudging Silver with her shoulder. Silver rolls her eyes and Christina loudly exhales, eyes shifting to the little closet from time to time.

"I feel obligated to be nice now because if I rip up this envelope and see that NYU doesn't want _me_, well, then I might go all Godzilla up in here," Silver sighs and falls back onto Phoebe's bed, fishing a white envelope from her purse. "So are you ready, Pheebs?"

"You got your letter? What are you waiting for? Open it!" Christina gasps, eyes darting over to her older stepsister. She sees Phoebe sitting quietly on her bed, staring blankly at the white envelope in her hands.

Christina recalls the countless nights of Phoebe tossing and turning, loudly asking if she's still awake and having to inevitably sit up, listening to the brunette go on and on about the possibilities of being accepted and being rejected. This single envelope Phoebe holds in her hands will either eliminate Christina's sleep deprivation or elevate it.

"Phoebe," Christina groans. "Just open it."

"What if I didn't get in?" Phoebe asks, her face looking paler than its usual colorless sheen. She's trying hard to keep her fingertips from shaking and there's a knot in her throat she's having a hard time keeping down. Looking downright scared, Phoebe's brown eyes dart over to her dark-haired friend, sitting idly at her side.

"Silver, you first…"

"Hell no," Silver bluntly replies. "You. That way, if you don't get in then I know to lie when I open mine." She looks to Christina and explains, "The only reason I really applied was because Phoebe filled out half the application for me. She figured since her records are so much more impressive if she gets rejected then I'll probably get rejected then we'd be rejects together and binge on baked goods."

"Okay, shut up. I'm opening it," Phoebe says anxiously, ignoring everything besides the white envelope. She carefully tears through the tab and sees the folded paper within. In one swoop, she removes the letter and allows the ripped envelope to hit the floor.

It's painfully quiet and everyone's on edge. Phoebe runs her fingers across the crisp paper, scared to death that the print will determine the next five years of her life. She unfolds the letter and her eyes dart from side to side.

Both Silver and Christina know that face Phoebe's making. It's the same face she makes when she's with Dylan, all wrapped up in his arms. Silver recalls it from a certain video tape and Christina every time she walks into the room without knocking. Phoebe North is ecstatic.

"I…I got in."

"Like that's a surprise to anyone," Silver rolls her eyes and turns to her crumpled envelope. She carelessly tears the entire vertical side and slides out her own letter. "Well, what do you know, I did too."

"Well, duh, just look at your last name," Phoebe jokes with a wide smile on her face and relief in her eyes. "I think you getting expelled might have been the best thing you've ever done. Surely they wouldn't have taken two New London High kids."

"You're welcome," Silver nearly growls. She looks the furthest thing from happy, sucking in a deep breath and letting the air loudly rush from between her lips a moment later. "So that's Yale, NYU and I'm still waiting on USC."

"You got into Yale and you're still waiting on other schools?" Phoebe questions, still a bit shaken up from the news that she actually got into her dream school. "Shouldn't it be a no-brainer?"

"Well, New Haven is close to here and Rodge, but if I went to NYU I'd get to spend more time with my dad and be in the city, oh, and see you from time to time," Silver says, juggling her choices. "And my sister lives like fifteen minutes away from USC and it's far which I kinda like and well, it's California."

"And what does Rodge think about California?" Phoebe asks curiously.

Silver rolls her eyes, a signature Silver sign of annoyance. "Rodge freaked out over me getting into Yale and New Haven is like an hour away by car. What do you think he thinks about California?"

"He should be proud of you," Phoebe says, always disapproving of the way Rodge treats her. She's sat by and watched the two in this horrible, masochistic relationship and she's honestly getting sick of it.

"You know how Rodge is," Silver tries to reason.

"Selfish?" Phoebe goes on. "He treats you like crap, Silver, and you just keep going right back to him. What kind of relationship is that? You're Silver. You don't take shit from anyone. We aren't living in the 50s. You aren't Mrs. Cleaver and you shouldn't have to be. Rodge is the one who needs to step up and start respecting you."

Silver's eyes are defensive, gleaming slits. "Like you're one to talk about relationships…"

Oh hell. Christina cringes. Phoebe appears livid.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me," Silver nods back.

"What are Rodge's plans for after college?" All eyes turn to Christina who appears frantic, hoping the other two girls conclude that she's trying to prevent a fight, not anxious about what's hiding in the closet. Phoebe turns to Silver, eagerly awaiting an answer and Silver crosses her arms over her chest in a defensive stance.

"To be honest, I have no earthly idea," Silver confesses with a deep sigh, eyes on the ground and a foot fidgeting against the wooden panels of the floor. "I don't know…I just…I feel so disconnected from him these days…"

"Dump him," Phoebe snorts and two sets of eyes find the brunette who can only shrug. "Be serious, Silver, you cannot tell me the thought hasn't crossed your mind."

"Bitch much?" the dark-haired senior scowls.

"Do you love him?" Phoebe quizzes.

"Of course, I do."

"Of course you do what?" a familiar voice asks from the door. It seems the Beardsley-North lighthouse is the cool place to be seeing as King Jock, Hunter Montgomery lingering at the door, looking like a Greek god complete with that Herculean grin. "Aw, am I interrupting the girl talk?"

"Oh, thank god," Christina brightens. "Hunt, these two were ready to kill each other."

"Then I'll be leaving," Hunter says quickly, too smart to get involved.

"Wait," Phoebe smiles pleasantly and waves him over. She shifts and creates a Hunter-size space between her and Silver on her bed. "You are, after all, one of us. Sit. Talk. Convince Silver your brother's a douche."

"Not something I like to admit," Hunter says with mock shame in his voice. He slumps between the two girls, an arm hanging around Phoebe's shoulders and adorably strains his eyes, looking over at Christina. "Ooh, toothpaste, how exciting."

The corner of her lips twitch as Phoebe notes the way Silver has strangely gone quiet. She's seated towards the foot of Phoebe's bed, sitting straight, knees angled away from Hunter. Despite her stiff, distant demeanor, she keeps sneaking Hunter these odd looks and the jock having some telepathic conversation with Christina remains oblivious.

"So Hunt," Phoebe calls out. "What are you doing here?"

"I jogged here. It's only about a mile and a half from the school," Hunter explains, showing no sign of labored breathing and hasn't even broken a sweat. "I'm actually looking for–"

_L.O.V.E, it's a mystery  
Where you'll find me, where you'll find  
All is Love, is love, is love, is love_

They all love how the room is silent and they all just quietly listened to the music pumping from Hunter's cell phone, signaling a text message. Amiable smiles floated over formerly tense faces and heads swayed from side to side. Phoebe and Silver groan simultaneously when the song abruptly stops and Hunter puts his hands up in defense.

"I'm going to college on scholarship. You think I could afford the whole song? Pshh," Hunter says, flipping open his old, crappy little cell phone held together by duct tape and almost choking on nothing when reading the text.

Finding his reaction odd, Phoebe interrogates. "Who is it?"

"I, um, no one," Hunter says, quickly deleted the text and snapping his phone closed. "Um, how about we go find Dylan? You, um, think he's in the basement…maybe?"

"You're being weird," Phoebe says bluntly.

"That's a great idea!" Christina pipes in, almost too enthusiastically.

Phoebe's eyes move from Silver who hasn't said a word since Hunter walked in, to Christina who's oddly fervent and is researching toothpaste then finally to Hunter who seems absolutely shaken after a single ring of his cell.

"You're all being weird," Phoebe accuses, eyeing each and every one of them.

"C'mon, Phoebe, I'm betting your mom wants to hear about NYU," Christina pushes, unable to keep her fidgeting leg still. They all watch as Hunter's face brightens and he immediately scoops Phoebe into his arms, parading around with loud whooping sounds.

"Congrats, Pheebs!" he squeezes her tight, looking so proud. "That's sick as fuck."

"Thank you…I think," Phoebe says calmly despite the buzzing feeling coursing through her being. Her eyes dart to her dark-haired friend who's probably still pissed off that Phoebe called her out on her bullshit relationship. "Oh, Silver got in too."

Hunter turns to her, but ever guarded Silver appears even more so than usual, wears this look that warns him not to come near her. Hunter can take a hint and weaves his fingers through his gentle curls, grinning nonetheless.

"First Yale and now NYU? Damn, Silver."

"It's whatever," Silver shrugs, "but, um, yeah, Pheebs. You should really tell Helen."

Again, the suspicion captures Phoebe's face. "Okay, why do I feel like all of you are trying to get me out of the room?"

"Because we are," Silver says frankly with a forced smile. Phoebe mumbles something beneath her breath and then takes off out the door, acceptance letter in hand. That leaves Hunter and the two girls awkwardly sitting there. Silver finally looks at him, so hesitant and maybe even afraid. "Hunt, can we, um, talk?"

His face shows confusion. "Now?"

"Now," Silver nods. "Out in the hall?"

"Alright," he cautiously agrees. Silver bounces from her corner seat on Phoebe's bed and heads for the door. Before following, Hunter allows his eyes to linger on the closed closet door before finding Christina. "Good luck with the _research_."

"Thanks," Christina gulps, looking straight into his knowing eyes. "You too."

---

"Oh, feeding this bull to Frank is one thing, but me, really, Dylan?"

He sits across the table in his mother's workroom, avoiding stray pins and needles. A table piled high with different fabrics, yards and yards of fuchsias and goldenrods sit between them. Helen North-Beardsley has this glint in her eyes, the warning that she knows he has a secret that she'll eventually wheedle out of him in no time.

Sighing, Dylan stretches out his arms and straightens in his seat. "What do you think is going on, mom?"

"I don't know why you insist on playing these games, Dylan," Helen says with a hint of a smirk. Of course, she knows. After all, they are one in the same. Leaning in ever so slightly, so curious, she asks, "Are you dating Brooke Ferris?"

He wants to burst out in laughter at the accusation, but manages a low groan instead. "Ma, are you kidding? She's smarter than that."

"A few little birdies–" Joni and/or Naoko, he already knows, "–have reportedly seen Miss Ferris waiting outside the school and picking you up when you're supposedly doing homework in the library. Confirm or deny?"

There's no malice in her voice. If anything, it's the anticipation of being right.

"Confirm," Dylan cringes, but is quick to diffuse the bomb. "But it isn't how it seems!"

"It better not be, especially after the girl apparently spent the night in the basement last week," Helen is sure to point out. She doesn't usually mind if friends spend the night. Hell, with that many kids confined to a house, noticing additional occupants is like playing where's Waldo? "You need to be careful, Dylan. She's William's ex-girlfriend."

"Ma, no, eww," he says with disgust. He scratches the back of his head and strains his eyes to read that expression on her face. "We are talking about Brooke, right? Brooke Ferris? Really, mom? I mean, yeah, I've been spending time with Brooke, but not just Brooke…Nate too. He's a, um, producer."

He waits for her disapproval and with that glint in her eyes, Helen doesn't disappoint.

"Dylan, you know the rules…"

"School before music," he dully repeats, rolling his eyes. Helen may encourage her children to make their own choices, but attending school may have been the one, only exception. "Let's face it, mom, school isn't my thing. Now Nate said–"

"Dylan, what did _your father_ say?"

This is the part where his stomach twists in knots and he feels a little queasy. He thinks of Peter North, the only father he's ever known, a music protégée himself and the ten years of teaching Environmental Science to third graders that made up his reputation. Besides being an avid believer in the power of music, he was definitely a pusher when it came to education. And Dylan, on the other hand, sees no point in the educational system, the focal point of their few yet typical arguments.

"He'd tell me to at least graduate high school," Dylan admits, pushing his fingers through the bangs that cover his forehead, bringing the chocolate strands to stand on ends. He's frustrated and she's basking in the knowledge that she already won this one.

"And what would your father think?"

With what Dylan knows, what's going on behind the backs of majority of the household, he allows his mind to wander. What would Peter North think of his oldest daughter and his oldest adopted son doing what they're doing? How would he react? The answers scares even bad boy Dylan North.

Before Dylan has the chance to respond, Phoebe comes sprinting in and Dylan instantly straightens in his seat. His heart starts racing and confusion takes over when he realizes Phoebe doesn't even notice he's in the room. She goes straight to Helen, bouncing on the balls of her feet, waving a piece of paper in her grasp.

There are three words that would make him blindly follow her through the snow on bare feet, but she doesn't say them. Actually, the three words she utters have the exact opposite effect and Dylan feels that queasiness return.

"I got in!"

* * *

**Author's note: **Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing! Please bear with me. I just moved and I'm still getting settled and haven't had much time to spend online. What do you think so far? What do you think about Rodge/Silver/Christina? Does he really care about either of them or is he just a douche? Will Phoebe's college plans strain her secret relationship with Dylan? Should the rest of the family find out?

Until next time...


	18. Honestly Falling to Pieces

**Temporary Insanity**

**Chapter 18: Honestly Falling to Pieces **

"Rodge, you can come out now."

He hears Christina whisper, but he doesn't come out of hiding. Crouched down in the corner of the girls' closet, Rodge has his arms resting on his bent knees and his back pressed to the wall. He's uncomfortably sitting on what he can only assume are shoes and the bottoms of coats and jackets drape over his shoulders. He's shrouded in darkness and his mind is racing.

"_He should be proud of you…" _

"_You know how Rodge is…" _

"_Selfish? He treats you like crap, Silver, and you just keep going right back to him. What kind of relationship is that?"_

"_Do you love him?" _

"_Of course, I do."_

Rodge just can't seem to get Phoebe and Silver's battling voices to leave his head. With the thin walls, he heard every single word. He heard Phoebe verbally castrating him and Silver trying to defend him when she obviously knew the truth backed ever single word Phoebe spoke. It was a real eye-opener and now Rodge knows exactly what he has to do.

He gets up and marches out, ignoring the way his eyes sting when he leaves the comforting darkness and walks out into the room where the sun filters in through the window at the far end of the room. He sees Christina with a look of relief on her face, but he can't stop. He knows she's only going to try to talk him out of what his impulses are tell him has to happen.

Thundering down the stairs, Rodge pays no attention to the weary man, sifting through a stack of mail and the little housekeeper woman trying to appear sober. He's searching for his girlfriend and sadly, it isn't something that happens very often.

About to turn a corner, Rodge hears her familiar, absolutely musical laugh and stops in his tracks. He sees that she's trying to be serious, but then there's Hunter who's smiling and swaying from side to side, having this almost childlike innocence to him. It's hard not to feel carefree in Hunter's presence and it seems Silver's finally taken notice.

Sadly, Rodge is about to ruin all of that.

He walks in and suddenly his throat's gone dry and his hands grown clammy. He flexes his fingers and tries to stand as tall as possible. He keeps his head up. He's going to do this. He needs to do this before he loses the fire that's been sparked by his eavesdropping upstairs.

"Hey you!" Silver shouts, being the first to notice his presence. She runs up to him, continuing to smile so bright, trying to kiss him. Rodge resists and turns slightly so she barely catches the corner of his lips. Her smile fades. Damn, already she's catching on. "Something wrong?"

"Can we talk outside?" he asks, hooking his finger into the collar of his v-neck and peeling the cotton material away from his hot skin. "You wanna go get some air?"

"Sure," Silver says, her cheery voice fading into one of doubt. "But wait–" she lifts her camera and focuses the lens on his solemn face, "–you never gave me your love."

Ambiguity is a coldhearted bitch.

"Not now, Silver," Rodge says, placing his hand over hers and pushing the camera away from his face. Now Silver looks absolutely perplexed and Rodge simply takes her hand and leads her out onto the front porch. He snaps for her to turn off the camera for once and Silver frowns, questioning why he's being so moody.

"We've been putting this off for a while now," Rodge sighs, not knowing how to express what he's feeling in words. He looks her in the eyes and already his face screams heartache. "Silver, I don't think this is working…"

"You're breaking up with me?" Good ol' Silver gets right to the point.

"Don't look so surprised. Let's face it. What we got ain't no relationship. It's a joke." Rodge almost laughs, but he catches himself, swallowing and forcing it back down. He reaches for her hand and their fingers brush, but she refuses any contact with him at all. Her eyes are practically praying for him to reconsider and he can hardly look at her.

"Rodge, no, you can't," she says frantically. Finally he's able to see what he's made her into, this desperate creature before him. This isn't Silver Silverberg who's known for being strong and stubborn and surely does not resort to begging. Rodge realizes that he's the reason she's like this and he's disgusted with himself.

"If we stay together we're going to be miserable," Rodge tells her calmly. "I'm going to keep you from all these big dreams you've got and that's no way to live, S. You'll be with me in this godforsaken town and you'll hate me for holding you back and you'll hate yourself for letting me. I can't sit by and watch this happen, Silver. I'm walking."

Despite his monologue, she looks ready to get down on her knees. Rodge refuses to see that.

"Rodge, I'm sure if we–"

"I cheated on you," he says painfully and sees Silver flinch the second he says it. "Sil–"

_Slap. _

It's amazing how quickly she reverted to that badass everyone knows and loves.

Silver hits him so hard he curses aloud and the footsteps that echo through the old lighthouse let the two know that they'll soon have an audience. Silver's too blinded by her rage and Rodge is too busy thinking about the way his cheek is throbbing. He tries to say her name again, but Silver throws a punch and strikes him across the face.

"Christ, Silver, that hurt!"

"And you don't think I'm hurting?" she demands, absolutely livid. "How many, Rodge?"

Forget compassion. He's pissed. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"How many sluts did you fucking cheat on me with? Do I know any of them?"

"No, you wouldn't know any of them. Apparently, Silver Silverberg is too good to hang with us common folk," Rodge growls, sure he's has a red imprint of her hand against his cheek. "I'm so sick of your high and mighty shit when it comes to Devin and our friends."

"Well, apparently, my opinion doesn't matter anymore." Silver turns up her nose, arms folded tight over her chest. "Go. I hope you and your little boyfriend and your harlots live happily fucking ever after, you bastard."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"And as long as we're being honesty here, Silver, really, the only reason I even asked you out in the first place is my dad," Rodge says with a laugh that sends a chill down her spine. She's never heard such bitterness from him before. He forces his eyes on hers, but Silver refuses, knowing she won't enjoy this.

Still, she butts back. "What are you talking about, Rodge?"

"Middle school. Brooke was already a cheerleader and you'd hang around practice. Good ol' dad could see that Hunter liked you and of course, in that fucked up mentality of his, a girl would surely jeopardize Hunt's precious football career so he basically asked me to be a human fucking cockblock," Rodge explains. "And in my pathetic need to please daddy, I did it. I asked you out."

His agreement to do this is also the reason Rodge gets away with so much. His parents ignored his horrible grades, his rude attitude towards everything and even every other weekend where Hunter has to drag Rodge home at three in the morning, loud and drunk. As long as he's doing his job and keeping Hunter away from Silver then basically he has the freedom to do whatever he wants.

"That's despicable," Silver spits, emerging from that shell known as Rodge's girlfriend. She moves forward, getting up in his face with eyes turned to slits of fury. "Our relationship was only a joke because that's what you made it. I cannot believe I wasted the last five years on _you_."

Rodge laughs, "that makes two of us, babe."

She turns away, blinking back tears. "God, Rodge, I can't even look at you right now."

He doesn't know what to say. Even if he did, Silver doesn't look like she wants to hear it. She doesn't even stay to hear it. It doesn't seem to matter that she's left her precious camera and even her acceptance letter into NYU. With her car keys in her pocket, Silver marches from the porch to her car, gets in and drives off without so much as a goodbye or a last glance.

Rodge slams his back into the side of the house and slides down to the ground. Absolutely seething, he replays the last five minutes in his head. That did not go how he originally planned. He planned to be compassionate and apologetic, but the moment she slapped him it's just like every other fight they've gotten into. He just snaps and it's as if he loses all control.

Now she's off somewhere, driving and probably blinded by her anger and her pain. There are about a million different things he would change about the way that conversation played out, but it's too late. There's no going back now.

Rodge brings out his cell phone and scrolls down his list of contacts. It isn't a name he calls often especially these days. He lazily holds the phone to his ear as it rings, still a bit dazed and in shock that he's finally ripped off that band-aid. Inwardly, he's conflicted. He feels lighter yet empty and relieved, but horrible all at the same time.

"Why are you calling me?" the voice on the other end of the line demands.

"It's done," he breathes shakily. "Silver and me…it's over."

The line goes dead and Rodge lets his hand fall at his side.

"You did it."

Rodge turns and sees Phoebe North looking down on him, one hand on her hip and such accusing eyes. He can't even stand to look at her, eyes falling to the scuffmarks of her sneakers instead.

"Happy, now?" Rodge snaps even though he knows it isn't fair to take his anger out on her. He gets up and stuffs his phone into his pocket, approaching the brunette like an animal ready to pounce. "No more Rodge to treat her like crap and turn her into Mrs. Cleaver."

Phoebe eyes him skeptically. "Where did you hear–"

"It doesn't matter. I'm out," he spits venomously and starts down the steps of the porch. He stops abruptly and spins on the balls of his feet, finding Phoebe once more. "And by the way, if you're still going with this battle of the bands gig, you might want to find yourself another bassist. Consider this my two weeks notice."

"Rodge!"

In his signature Rodge Montgomery way, he doesn't react to her shouting at his back. He simply throws up a crooked peace sight behind his head, jumps into his Jeep and drives off. Phoebe is left standing there, huffing and puffing, a bit glad that Rodge is gone, but also a little fearful of the prospects of the band falling apart.

Phoebe turns away once Rodge's Jeep completely disappears and violently shoves the screen door open, listening as it slams after her. Right when she walks in, she sees Dylan, Hunter and Christina waiting there with hungry eyes. They're exactly where she left them, with their ears pressed to the slightly cracked side window, trying to make sense of all the commotion.

Phoebe sighs, throwing both hands into the air. "They're gone. Both of them."

"Did he really mean what he said?" Dylan asks anxiously. "Rodge just quit the band?"

"Dylan, I'm seriously more concerned about Silver right now," Phoebe says and everyone's surprised. This coming from the girl whose number one priority lately (besides keeping her relationship with Dylan a secret) is the band.

"Relax, Pheebs," Dylan whispers, resisting the urge to take her hand in the presence of Hunter. "Silver isn't stupid. She isn't one of those girls that do drastic things when a guy breaks up with her."

Dylan flashes back to when Phoebe and Jason broke up and she was high on Insomnia and it lead to them nearly ripping each other's throats out over sheet music just as the sun was coming up. Their eyes meet and from the look she's giving him, Dylan's almost completely sure they're thinking of the same thing. He's so going to get it later tonight.

Hunter clears his throat, almost uncomfortably. "I should get home and check on Rodge."

"My money says he isn't there. You'd have better luck checking Devin's or even the closest liquor store," Phoebe says with the roll of her eyes. "And you don't know Silver won't do anything drastic. Rodge was her first boyfriend…her first everything. With their history and everything they've been through…she must be hurting."

"And you don't have a car, Hunt," Christina's sure to point out.

"You can take mine as long as you take care of her," Dylan suggests, plucking a set of keys from the key holder at the door. "She isn't much and you should avoid major hills, but she'll get you home."

"Why do guys insist their cars are girls?" Phoebe curiously inquires.

"Because they are," Dylan laughs, exchanging knowing looks with Hunter. "I'm just as worried about Silver and Rodge, but I'm supposed to be grounded and I fear the wrath of mom way too much to chance it these days."

"Frank is paying me to tutor Harry in math," Phoebe explains, looking rather reluctant, "but I can totally ditch it and go look for Silver with you."

"No, you could use the money especially with NYU in your future. Seriously, don't let the drama between those two stop you from celebrating," Hunter smiles that smile that just seems to brighten the entire room. "I've got this. I've been playing mediator between those two for years now."

Hunter says his goodbyes, hugs and kisses on the cheeks for Phoebe and Christina and a manly half-hug for the punk with the broken arm. The jock walks out with one last smile and Dylan goes with him, having to teach Hunter the way he needs to jiggle the key just right to get the car to start. It leaves Phoebe and Christina sharing a couch in silence.

"Now you've seen the real Rodge," Phoebe says, turning to Christina who's staring pensively across the room. "What do you think?"

"Honestly," Christina starts, wiping at her eyes, "I don't know what to think. He cheated on her and something tells me he wasn't talking emotionally cheating with me which means there was some other girl."

"As long as we're being honest," Phoebe sighs, shifting slightly closer to her stepsister. "There were probably more than one other girl. Christina, all those times we told you to stay away from Rodge it wasn't just out of respect for Silver. Rodge hurts girls and we didn't want you to be one of them."

Christina tries to smile and fails. "A little too late, don't you think?" She curls her legs beneath her and hugs the nearest throw pillow. "When we were eavesdropping…did you hear him? There was no consideration, Phoebe. No sympathy. He just exploded in her face. I don't even know who that was. All this time I've been defending a stranger."

Phoebe frowns, linking her arm around Christina's neck and pulling her close. Christina went from foot-in-door to door-in-face over the course of a conversation she didn't even have a voice in. It seems everyone's just falling to pieces today.

"Do you think Rodge knew what he was talking about or just pulling shit out of his ass?" Phoebe wonders aloud, rocking slightly as a means of comfort.

"Hmm," Christina takes a moment to think. "You mean about Hunter liking Silver?"

"Yeah," Phoebe quietly replies. "I mean, I've never really looked for it…"

"If he does, that's one twisted love triangle," Christina shakes her head.

"Don't you mean love square?" Phoebe asks, knocking into the blonde with her shoulders. Fighting a smile, Christina bumps right back into her and the two girls share a laugh.

As desperate as Christina is to crawl out, the Rodge-shaped hole she's dug is just too deep.

…

Hunter knows exactly where to find her and that kind of scares him.

His first instinct was to race home and bitch at his father. It's still hard for Hunter to wrap his head around the fact that his father's been using Rodge this entire time, coxing him into some fake, masochistic relationship with one of their friends just to guarantee there would be nothing to distract Hunter from football. It's vile and manipulative and wrong. It makes him sick, finally putting the pieces together and seeing the truth.

Hunter wants to tell his dad there's no way he's even considering Penn State anymore. He wants to find Rodge and apologize. He feels bad that his brother, who always appears so indifferent and uncaring, has actually been suffering through an obviously dying relationship just to keep up a stupid promise made to their father.

Instead of all that, Hunter goes on a search for Silver, the innocent one in this entire situation.

Hunter can't imagine what's going through her head at the moment. She's just been told that the last five years of her life was a complete lie. Hunter knows it isn't entirely true. He knows for a fact that Rodge cares about her to a certain extent, but probably not as much as Silver had thought he did.

Dylan's Mustang clunks and growls as Hunter speeds down the dusty streets. He struggles to keep control and not fly off the cliff, anxious to get to where he's going. The sun has just set a little less than an hour ago. It's a dark night, the sky being overcast, clouds completely shielding the moon. The streetlights are dim and the headlights of Dylan's Mustang are even worse.

His destination is another place, besides the old church and the lighthouse, which the kids born and raised in New London would claim as their playgrounds. The Ferris' driver would always take them every weekend when they were young. Once they hit middle school, the place went out of business and it became the coolest local party scene for a good couple years.

It's also Silver's hideaway.

Hunter isn't surprised to find the chains on the rusted gate, thrown off and a Silver Mercedes in the distance. He slowly drives into what was once a drive-in movie theatre and now appears to be a ghost town. The giant screens are still up, but are now practically falling apart and covered with graffiti. He shuts off the engine and pushes his door open, walking out into the warm Connecticut evening.

Just as he thought, there's Silver, sitting on the hood of her car and staring out at the dark sky. Her fingers are loosely wrapped around a glass bottle in a paper bag and there's already one that's been carelessly tossed to the ground in shattered pieces across the concrete.

It's impossible for her to not be aware of his presence, but she doesn't even react as he shuffles closer. Hunter hasn't really thought this far into his plan. He figured the hard part would be finding her, but now that he has won this little game of 'Where's Silver,' the hard part seems to be talking to her. He has no idea what to say.

"The world wins," Silver slurs and Hunter's pretty sure she isn't talking to him, but just talking aloud. It's more than obvious she's had more than a little to drink. "The world refuses me happiness and now I'm not happy. Ha. The world wins."

"How insightful of you," Hunter blurts out with little thought. He pushes himself up to sit on the hood beside her and Silver's glazed eyes slowly dart over to him, staring as if it's taking her a while to take in his appearance.

"Don't try to be cute," she warns, shaking a finger at him. Well, it seems she meant to simply point at him, but with the way she's slightly swaying she might as well be shaking a finger at him.

Hunter smiles pleasantly. "Who's trying?"

"Don't try to flirt with me either," she cautions him, eyes shifty and suspicious.

"I'm not flirting," Hunter laughs. "I'm just trying to make you feel better."

"How am I supposed to feel better?" Silver groans miserably, shoulders slumping and ready for another sip. "My boyfriend of five years dumped me."

"Yeah, I'm not going to lie. That hardcore sucks," Hunter sympathizes, scratching the back of his head. Silver groans irritably and takes another sip that's more like a gulp. She then extends the bottle to him and Hunter waves her off, but Silver only stares at him longer.

"Seriously, Hunt, you're going to make me drink alone?"

He sighs and takes the heavy glass bottle, lifting it to his lips. Vodka. He could have guessed.

"That's disgusting." Hunter's face wrinkles and he wipes his lips against his bare arm. Silver only rolls her eyes and reclaims her bottle, taking another sip. Hunter leans back with his spine stretched across the glass, arms outstretched. "How long have you been out here?"

"Dunno," she replies, barely coherent. "I got dumped."

"You're not dying," Hunter tells her, his finger drawing random patterns across her windshield. Silver falls back to imitate Hunter's relaxed, sprawled out form, the back of her neck rested on his forearm. She turns onto her side so she's facing him and their eyes meet.

"You have pretty eyes," she says with conviction and it makes him smile. "They don't remind me of Rodge's at all. You two really are the worst twins ever."

At the mention of his brother, Hunter has to look away. For some strange reason, he almost feels like he's betraying his brother, chasing after Silver like this, being with her now when he should be supporting his brother.

"Why are you upset?" Silver asks quizzically, awkwardly reaching out to Hunter, but forgetting that she already has her bottle in her hand. "Hunt, you have no right to be upset. I just got dumped."

"Yes, you've told me. Three times now," Hunter sighs, looking upward and wishing he could see stars. "Silver, I'm sorry. My dad and my brother…"

"You have nothing to apologize for, idiot." Silver almost laughs, but instead takes another sip of her cheap booze. "It's not your fault that your dad is a psychopath and your brother is a douche bag."

"Still, I want you to know that I had no idea…"

"Is it true?" she asks, leaning into him.

"Like you said, my dad's a psychopath," Hunter scowls, angered at the very thought of his father who's been controlling him more than he originally thought. "I wouldn't doubt he'd cook up some crack plan like that."

"Noooo," she slurs, letting the bottle in her hands slip from her fingers and shatter against the floor. She rests her hand on his shoulder and Hunter nearly jumps away. "Did you like me?"

Hunter wishes they still had that bottle.

"Pshh, it was the seventh grade, Silver. We were thirteen-years-old," Hunter tries to laugh off the awkwardness and the lowering of inhibitions that accompanies alcohol. "Yeah, I liked you, but, I mean, I liked B too. I wasn't too picky back then."

"Oh," she mumbles quite sadly, but recovers quickly. "So are you really gonna marry Brooke?"

Hunter shrugs, chuckling at the very thought. "Twenty years is a long time from now."

"I don't think she's your Lucille," Silver admits, trying to shake her head, but his arm is in the way. Hunter waits for her to continue, but Silver lets her heavy eyelids fall and sighs loudly.

"Well, I think it's time to get you home," Hunter says quietly. He tries to sit up, but Silver just won't budge. He carefully scoops her up in his arms, one strong arm supporting her back and the other hooked behind her kneecaps. He gets her into the passenger seat of Dylan's Mustang, struggling only with getting the door open and takes off once he's sure her Mercedes is securely locked.

Silver keeps her eyes closed for majority of the drive back to her house and Hunter doesn't know if she's faking it or has finally passed out. He tries to keep the ride as smooth as possible, but with Dylan's Mustang that proves to be a challenge. When he reaches her gigantic house and sees how every single light is off, Hunter feels kind of bad, leaving a brokenhearted girl all alone in a gigantic house.

Still, he knows he can't stay even if he ends up sleeping on her floor or even in one of the many other empty rooms. When friends break up, you aren't supposed to choose sides. You be Sweden and stay neutral. When the two friends who've just broken up happen to be your brother and your old crush, things are even harder.

"Silver, we're here," he whispers gently, shaking her to wake up. She groans and her face scrunches up and Hunter would never admit it, but he's rather amused. His knuckles brush her cheek as he tucks her dark strands behind her ear and gets a better view of her pretty face. "Silver, you think you can make it to the door?"

"Hmm, I can almost taste you," Silver says quietly, keeping her eyes shut tight. Hunter jerks away from her as if he's been shocked just by the sound of her voice. "Do you think things would have turned out different?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you asked me out first…just know I would have said yes," Silver says in that slurred way of talking she's adopted. She says it as if she simply can't keep the statement to herself and Hunter's frozen in his seat. "I think things would have been real different."

"Silver," he whispers her name.

She opens her cerulean eyes that are oh so tired and oh so bloodshot. She looks exhausted and though he doesn't say more, there's something about the way he's looking at her.

It's something like _don't tell anyone because you're my brother's ex-girlfriend. _

More like, _don't tell anyone, but I _still _like you. _

She leans in closer, but she doesn't kiss him. A fist against the window breaks the spell.

"Brooke," Hunter breathes and gladly gets out of the car. Silver only groans loudly and leans back against the headrest, shutting her eyes once more. Hunter runs his fingers through his hair and rounds the front of the car, embracing the brunette in a hug that doesn't last long.

"Hold on, hubby, were you just about to take advantage of my very vulnerable and very drunk best friend in Dylan's car?" Brooke interrogates. "Oh, the wedding is so off."

"Did you just refer to Silver Silverberg as your best friend again?"

"She may be a bitch, but no one should go through a breakup alone," Brooke recites a proverb from the Brooke Ferris' Guide to Life. That's one of the many things Hunter Montgomery loves about Brooke Ferris. She may get easily pissed off, but when needed, Brooke will always be there. "So what happened exactly?"

"Shit went down," Hunter sighs, leaning against the grill of the car. He looks to the sky, so lost and confused, Brooke can't help, but let her curiosity get the best of her. She sits up on the hood and Hunter recounts the events of the day, everything from Rodge hiding in Christina and Phoebe's closet to finding Silver at the drive-in.

"Rodge is fine. He's passed out on my living room floor," Brooke explains, remember how he'd called her right after the breakup and how he started drinking around the same time she started putting on her make-up. By the time Brooke was out the door, Rodge was already on the floor.

"Typical Rodge," Hunter scoffs, really having no idea what he's going to do with his brother. Before he can deal with Rodge, he has to tackle the obstacle of the girl passed out in the passenger seat. "So you ready to trade off?"

"You make it sound like comforting our heartbroken friend is a job or something," Brooke says, shaking her head in mock shame. "She scares you, doesn't she?"

"Less than Phoebe, more than you," Hunter says playfully. "What? She's Silver. Why would she scare me?"

"Because she isn't just Silver anymore, Hunt. She's _single_ Silver and five seconds ago she was not just single Silver, but _drunken_ single Silver," Brooke smirks knowingly, swaying from side to side. "Aw, is the temptation too much for you, sweetie?"

"What? Brooke, Silver isn't even an option," Hunter says strongly, shaking his head and Brooke can't help, but feel a little bit disappointed. "I'll, uhh, I'll help you get her upstairs."

"No. It's okay. I got this. I'll use my cheer muscles," Brooke says confidently, flexing her arms that are in no comparison to Hunter's. "You get some sleep, Hunt. You've got school in the morning. I'll take care of Debbie McDrinks-a-lot."

Hunter looks skeptical, but reaches for the door handle anyways and motions for Brooke to get to work. The brunette puts her hair up in a messy bun before she drapes Silver's limp arm around her shoulders, wraps her arms around her torso and hoists her from the car. Brooke staggers a bit and Hunter has to take Silver's other arm and lean most of the unconscious girl's weight on him for Brooke to find her balance.

Silently agreeing to work as a team, the two get to the front door with little issues and curse beneath their breaths as they make their way up the grand staircase. By the time they reach Silver's room that's as cold as Antarctica, they slowly lower her down onto her bed and high-five, feeling accomplished and breathing heavily.

"It's fucking cold in here."

"Yeah," Hunter agrees, running his palms down the bare skin of his arms. "It's just how Silver like's it."

"Well, I don't care. If I'm staying for the night we are turning this shit off," Brooke complains, reaching for one of the many controllers on Silver's bedside table, trying to decode the cluster of buttons. She glances over at her drunken mess of a friend who's lifelessly sprawled out across her unmade bed, mumbling incoherently into her pillow.

"I just updated Phoebe and Dylan, told em' I got her home safe and that you're staying with her for the night," Hunter explains, sliding his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans. "Dylan says I have to video tape you solemnly swearing not to murder S."

"Dylan is full of shit 24/7," Brooke says with a bored yawn. "Even I'm not that cruel."

"I guess I'll just take your word for it," Hunter smiles tiredly. He holds out his arms, expecting a hug and Brooke mimics his arm movement, but refuses to cross the empty space between them. Giving in with a groan like he always does, Hunter swoops in and grabs her, hugging her tight. "You take care of our girl, okay, Brookie?"

"As always," Brooke whispers before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Now get out of here."

"Alright. Goodnight, B."

"Goodnight."

Hunter's sure to lock up and punch in the security code upon leaving the mansion. Brooke watches from the balcony as Hunter leaves, speeding off in Dylan's Mustang. She then returns to the rather large room and looks down at Silver who's sleeping with her lips parted and snoring lightly. Sighing, Brooke tosses off her sweater and crawls beneath the covers beside Silver, feeling like they're eight-years-old again.

"Aw, S, what am I going to do with you?"

"Rodge," Silver mumbles in her sleep, shifting as she does so.

"He's gone, baby," Brooke mumbles even though she's certain Silver can't actually hear her. She gives her friend's hand a firm squeeze and whispers, "he's been gone a long time now and even you knew it, Silver."

It's quiet again and Brooke makes herself comfortable, snuggling with a nearby pillow.

"Hunter?" Silver mutters, sitting up suddenly and looking from left to right.

"He'll be back tomorrow," Brooke says soothingly, giving Silver's hand another comforting squeeze. A pleasant smile captures her features. Brooke's happy Silver said the other twin's name because having to repeat what's just been said in unconsciousness would just bring on more pain. "Knowing Hunt, he'll even bring us breakfast tomorrow morning."

"Brooke?"

"Yeah, it's me," she smiles and props herself up, pulling Silver into a hug when she finally notice how her best friend's eyes have began to water. Brooke hugs her tight as if her holding on could prevent the inevitable.

A sob pierces the air and it seems like the start of an avalanche. Brooke can feel the tears that start to soak her oversize Nirvana t-shirt and Silver's clinging to her as if her life depended on it. Brooke feels her throat start to close up when Silver goes into a rant of mumbles, asking what she did wrong and how she's supposed to pretend like she isn't completely internally shattered.

Brooke doesn't mention Rodge. She doesn't point out the fact that stone cold Silver Silverberg, who she's supposed to be pissed off at right now, is having a breakdown. All Brooke can manage is a repeatedly whisper in her ear.

"You've got me, S. You've got me."

* * *

**Author's note:** Hey everyone! I'm sorry this is taking me a million years, but I'm working on it. **Itsi3**, yes, Rodge seems to be a complex character and a Godawful mess right now. I'm glad you love Phoebe and Dylan together, but things might start to get rough for those two _again _with what happens in the next chapter. **Aeralyse, **I'm glad you enjoyed the re-write and yes, I worked hard to make it seem like my own word, building off the one-dimensional stuff the movie gave us. I can't wait to hear what you though about this chapter.

Reviews are always great early Christmas presents. :D


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